


Full Strawberry Moons

by TailgatesHarem



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Humanformers, Lady Tailgate, Vampire AU, genderbent, humanformers au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2109066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TailgatesHarem/pseuds/TailgatesHarem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Temperance Gate, an eleven year coma patient, wakes up during a late June, record setting blizzard the entire lives of several hospital workers and one mysteriously dark ex-war pilot are turned on their heads. The now young woman discovers a dark and dangerous secret in the peace garden of the hospital, blood stained pasts rising to the snow surface. But when complications post comatose arise will Cyclonus leave another human who got too close behind or will he make the ultimate sacrifice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under the Eyes of The Holy Mother

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lasting Symptoms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1665869) by [Silverdart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverdart/pseuds/Silverdart). 



> For obvious reasons I've changed some of the character's names. I think anyone who introduced themselves as Tailgate, ect, would be questioned.   
> Tailgate is Temperance Gate (Genderbent to F).   
> Added names will be posted as the fic grows. Please enjoy.

The little girl who had fallen into a coma unexpectedly all those years ago was not so different from the young woman lying on the permanent resident bed in what the nurses referred to as the Stiffs Ward. Her snowy white hair and pallor skin reminded those unfamiliar to her face of a blanket of snow and lifeless stillness of a winter’s morning. Her parents, long too grief-stricken to visit their daughter in the hospital, knew she was the very opposite of her looks. She was light and life personified, her crystalline blue eyes shimmering bright against her soft moonlight pale face.

However, now her twentieth birthday, she was just a Snow White cursed in an eternal slumber thanks to an unknown poison. Nurses routinely checked her health figures, no longer lingering to notice her unique beauty. She’d become a faded ghost living in a hospital bed. Even so, abnormalities can sometimes arise in the best of ways.

Looking to get away from the constant chatter of the desk nurses Doctor Robert T. Ratchet had taken a seat on the opposite side of the girl’s private room, watching as the record breaking June snow caked the hospital’s internal square garden. He smiled to himself as he raked a hand through his rich red hair. He could die right then knowing he’d seen enough oddities for a lifetime. Or perhaps not.

Across the room a faint rustling came from the bed. Ratchet’s eyes widened as he turned his head, nearly dropping his coffee. The snowy girl was shakily leaning up off her bed, eyes blearily blinking at the dull world around her. She winced when she felt her arm bend against the IV that had been in her arm since she was nine. She licked her lips, muscles in desperate need of a workout. She felt like she’d taken a nap so long that her body felt just as exhausted when she passed out. However, she realized after her blue eyes focused that she was, in fact, not in her bedroom.

“Wh-what?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ratchet sad, jumping up and setting the coffee down. He had no idea what had woken the girl, if she was sick, if this was a temporary reprieve from her slumber, or if he needed to call a shock counselor. Was Rung still in the building? Christ. “Um… do you know where you are?”

“What? What? Oh… um…” She trailed off, coughing to clear her throat. “M-my voice… is that my voice?”

“Um… shit…”

 

When Rung had heard the news he nearly hurdled over his desk with the young woman’s file in glee. He hadn’t gotten the chance to help someone adjust over an eleven year gap before and it was always on his career check list. Ratchet was shaking as he tried to explain, furiously sipping on black coffee and painting a picture with words and dramatic hand motions.

“Her parents stopped visiting her when she turned fifteen. Christ, I’m not even sure why they kept paying for life support, but… Rung, she fell under when she was nine. She’s hit puberty, grown, stopped, and become a woman in her sleep. Eleven years have passed and the first thing she worries about is that her voice sounds different!” He explains, rubbing his temples as he trashes the empty cup.

Rung nodded and smiled, the girl’s folder tucked beneath his arm. He smoothed his ginger and peppery hair flat against his head from the side, straightening his jacket as Ratchet opened the door. However, there was a surprising lack of residency in the room that the girl had slept in for over a decade.

“Now, forgive me if this seems… blunt. But don’t recently revived coma patients stay in their beds?”

Ratchet was already way ahead of his friend, running to the nurse’s center desk to roar like the highly caffeinated beast he was. But that still left the question, where was she?

 

Out in the hospital courtyard a beautiful statue of the ever patient Holy Mother stood with her stone arms outstretched and welcoming, head bowed and veiled around her soft, understanding expression. The old war-hardened soldier stared up at her face and sighed. He recited The Lord’s Prayer in his head as he sipped on the coffee cup, licking his lips clean. The snow was cool and chilly against his greyish, yet naturally tanned skin. It was strange, such a heavy snow in late June. What omen did that forecast?

The bitter man thought about the last time something strange beyond comprehension had happened. It was right before he was going to leave for the Pilot’s Academy for the World War. He’d had no family to begin with and was a perfect picture of health despite his naturally mature and sullen expression. His face, carved by high cheekbones and deep set eyes, was so menacing that his fellow pilots said he could take down the armies with his frown.

Nevertheless, he had mastered flying better than anyone to come before him. Even his teachers found it abnormal how comfortable he was around planes of any shape and size. He could fly them like there was air in his veins, they’d claimed. Each time he got behind the wheel of a jet his heart was flooded with a sense of confidence and comfort that seldom filled him on the ground. The sky just felt right.

When it came time to paint each of the pilot’s unique insignias on the sides of their planes all of his fellow pilots demanded he paint his training camp nickname Cyclonus on the side. “You’re a damn storm up there. A grade A cyclone,” they’d nod in agreement. And so the name stuck. The moniker the orphanage had given him long ago had blurred with time, only that name remaining. Luckily he never had to explain this lengthy story because his face was not a friendly one.

And yet, toddling through the thickening snow in bare feet, clinging to a rolling IV pole with shaking legs, was a young woman who didn’t seem at all scared of him as she approached. Finally, unsticking the pole from some unseen tile spaces under the snow, she smiled widely at the man.

“M-mind if I sit?” She stammered, face tipped in pink from the cold swirling in the air. Cyclonus returned to staring at the statue and sipping his drink, not entirely saying no. The girl took this as an apathetic ‘I won’t stop you if you want to sit down’ sort of answer. “G-gosh, it’s cold. Winter came really fast this year, huh?” She trembled, entire body vibrating to keep warm. The older man cocked a brow sharply, wondering if it was a joke. “S-so are you here to visit s-someone? O-or are you a d-doctor?”

“What’s it to you?” He asked bitterly, taking another long sip before swiping his thin lips clean expertly.

“Ah… w-well nothing I suppose. Just trying to make small talk.”

“You have no shoes, you’re wearing a hospital gown and a thin sweater you’re trying to pretend still fits, and you’re in such a state of shock you probably don’t feel the cold,” he noted, scanning the girl top to bottom. He sighed and sat his cup down on the ground. He slid his thick wool pea coat off his angular shoulders and gently rested it around the ghostly girl’s shoulders. “What year is it?”

“Two thousand and three?” She asked, pulling the smoky smelling jacket around her tightly. This, however, made the old pilot’s eyes nearly bulge. His deep red eyes watched the confused look on the girl’s face, realizing what the situation was.

“Two thousand and three… how old are you?”

“Nine.”

Cyclonus sucked on his lips as he looked around. No one was coming into the garden because of the cold, even if she was being searched for, and the snow was only turning into a blizzard by the second. He stood, leaving the cup on the ground and offering his hands. “What?”

“Your feet are turning blue. You need to be carried inside before you get frostbite and hypothermia,” he said, growing more impatient by the second. She nodded and let the tall man lift her into his arms. He certainly was an odd man, but she could slowly feel a painful numbness in her feet. He was right, whatever he said.

As they walked inside the chapel doors towards the elevators, the girl kept talking, mind putting some things together.

“It’s not two thousand and three, is it?” She asked flatly, earning an equally deadpan response.

“No.”

 

After getting lost in the pediatric ward and being redirected by a nurse on watch for the girl to the ‘Stiffs’ ward Cyclonus and the tiny girl rounded the corner towards the hall near her room. Dr. Ratchet, eyes once more nearly popping from his skull, stormed up to the man much taller than he was.

“Who the hell are you and what did you do with her?” He snapped, Rung not far behind. “Do you have any idea what could have happened by taking a coma patient? Are you even allowed here?” Rung, knowing Cyclonus, placed a hand on his fellow medical friend’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Ratchet. Cyclonus wouldn’t hurt her. Now,” he said, gently nudging Ratchet aside to face the girl. “Ms. Gate, my name is Dr. Rung. Do you know where you are?”

 

The entire hospital could have heard the girl’s scream when she heard she’d been in a coma for eleven years. She was twenty years old, many feet taller than when she’d fallen asleep, hence the wobbly footing, and the worst part was that it didn’t seem her parents were coming. Rung had explained that due to the lengthy amount of time that she was asleep her guardians had kept her alive and showed love only by such, but that it was simply a natural reaction to grief. The girl, Temperance Gate, did not take this as simply as the doctor had explained.

“I want to go home.”

“I can have your parents contacted and they can help you--,” he began only cut off by another firm ‘I want to go home’.

Thus, properly fitted with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the girl shop, Temperance went to search for that dark, tall man. She felt her feet tremble with each step, still adjusting to use and height, but she was confident enough. If she got stuck perhaps another dark, mysterious man would carry her back to her room.

The world had become so curious in the past eleven years. Everything seemed so shiny and new in the future, clean and designed in a way that was simpler and yet more beautiful. Nurses smiled and her beaming face, the young woman’s optimism absolutely infectious. People were noticing her radiant, rare beauty once more.

Sure enough, sitting back on the bench and sighing at a cup of coffee sat the tall, dark man. He sipped it bitterly and crossed his legs at the thigh, regal in every sense of the word. His rich purple hair, braided and resting on his shoulder, suited him perfectly even in the dull light of the now settled snow. His jacket had been replaced and was heating his lean frame once more.

Feeling gutsy she snuck up behind him, hands at the ready to pounce as she bit her lip to keep her from laughing. However, the plan fell flat.

“Back again so soon?” She let the sigh of disappointment rush out of her as she skipped around the unoccupied side of the bench and plopped down, hands between her legs to keep warm.

“I get to go home today.”

“Congrats,” he said flatly.

“My parents haven’t visited me in five years so can I live with you?”

At this proposal he spit his drink, red misting the snow. Temperance’s eyes widened, body stiffening as she stared at the crimson spatter marked sharply against the white of the blizzard. Then, slowly, she turned her eyes to the man. He was wiping his lips furiously, eyes glowing red and sharp at her. Suddenly the cold of the summer winter didn’t bother the girl, it was how intensely Cyclonus was glowering at her. She opened her mouth to speak, the man grabbing her by the collar and yanking her forward. Her glassy blue eyes were bulging, heart pumping fast and hands shaking as she held them up innocently. “S-sorry I… I didn’t m-mean anything offensive by it. Swear, I can wait for my subpar parents to pick me up a-and I-I… I’ll tell no one, I sw-swear. Please, man, uh, sir… I just w-woke up from the longest nap anyone should e-ever have. Let me live at least through the night, huh?”

Cyclonus licked his lips and stared at the girl in his clutches. He could have torn her throat out to compensate for his shed lunch, but something about her. Maybe it was that striking pallor or her overwhelming optimism, but spilling her blood felt almost like a sin. He himself had sinned enough to stand toe to toe with Lucifer’s reputation, but this girl felt absolutely off limits. Eyes dimming and shoulders relaxing he threw her back in disgust, kicking over the snow to hide the blood against the snow.

Temperance sighed with such relief that her mind felt dark and heavy, just like when she’d fallen asleep when she was little. Part of her mind screamed to stay awake, but the sight of so much blood had gotten to her. Besides, there was a man with glowing red eyes, purple hair, and cheekbones so sharp they could cut her hand if she slapped him to drive him away looming over her.

Seeing the girl falling Cyclonus dove and caught her just before she hit the ground, his own knees now soaked with icy slush as he slid her back onto the bench. He growled in frustration, thoroughly peeved by her presence. However, as he settled her back against the bench he saw that her wristband had already been marked through for checkout and her back held a small rope string gym sack full of her meager belongings. She was going with him or she was going to sit in the lobby of the huge hospital nervously awaiting the people who hadn’t bothered to fluff her pillow or refill the flower vase in five years.

Another sigh of anger and Cyclonus pulled the deadweight onto his back and stood, to make his way towards the chapel door. Why did he get stuck with the one thing that actually came equipped with guilt?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue Rewind's entrance. The sassy, beautiful young woman, named Rewonda, is inspired by OttPop's femme/Humanformer design you can find here: http://ottpop.tumblr.com/post/75324466536/so-rewind-so-ladyformers-so-grudge-fashion.

The rich smell of incense and beer filled the air around the girl. Her body, heavy against the dense, soft pile of furs and quilts, ached from so much activity right after waking up. Her dreams had been nothing but blackness and drops of rich red blood, the smell of sharp cold and iron. But now, despite such fear filling her first few hours of renewed life, a sense of mystical warmth filled her.

Temperance felt her heavy eyelids part against their better judgment, the room dim and lit by a gentle golden flicker. She took a long breath in and felt the oxygen clear her mind. Her fingers grabbed at the furs and blankets on the bed, legs trembling as she sat up. Her clear blue eyes blinked rapidly to adjust to the warm glow of the room.

Inside the small cozily tight room was the bed and what felt like the tiniest room in the world. She sat up at a slow, agonizing pace, wincing through the ache in her calves and feet. Finally upright she gave a great heaving sigh of relief. She felt the unfamiliar weight against her chest and noticed she’d developed under the spell of sleep. Her hips were more rounded and her chest more prominent. She looked like a woman. Then again, she was. It felt so strange to go to sleep one thing and wake up another. Then it hit her: she doesn’t have any clothes besides the hospital gift shop garb that was already too thin and cheap for her liking.

Testing her weak feet carefully, the ghostly girl stood, bracing herself against the flattened out futon frame. Thankfully the pain was just a faint throbbing by the time she steadied herself. She could see around the room much clearly now. The sky outside was an overcast, smoky grey, casting a foggy light in between the miniblinds over the sink in the micro-kichenette. Curled up by a woodstove was the menacing man, slumbering silently. Seeing him sleeping so quietly took the menace from his being, but Temperance knew to step around him carefully. Rather, stand still. There wasn’t anywhere to go. The sum and total of the room was the joke of a kitchen, the lavish, rustic bed, a door that she could only surmise to be the bathroom, the woodstove in the corner, a bookshelf filled and overflowing, and an altar. The altar was covered in tall white candles wrapped in images of patron saints and angels. Short, red glass candles littered their base while herbs hung at the top of the altar over a statuette of a woman holding a young child in her arms, looking at  him lovingly with a doe at her hip. It was a beautiful statue, almost one you could touch. Just reach forward and…

Temperance nearly shrieked when she felt the hand grip around her outstretched arm. Her eyes turned to the man who was now up, glaring at her challengingly. She smiled sheepishly, body already shaking. “Morning,” she laughed, biting her lip to hide the fact that it was quivering.

There was a tension in the air that had not been addressed. She knew, at the very least, something was uniquely different about Cyclonus and that put her at risk. He could kill her at any moment or someone else could hunt either of them depending on who said what about the circumstances that the two had been bonded by a unique twist in the fibers of fate.

“You do not touch this altar,” he said very firmly, voice deep and at such a timbre that it resonated within the young woman’s chest. She shuddered, eyes still wide like a doll’s as she stared deep into the man’s eyes.

Mind abandoning evolutionary caution Temperance’s hand, the one not held tight by a frighteningly cold hand, reached up and touched Cyclonus’ face. It was icy, but held a curious sensation: stillness. She felt her palm smooth against the cheekbone of his weathered face, fingertips brushing strands of the purple hair away. For a moment a certain warmth echoed between the two, only the gentle warm flicker of candle light and the nearly silenced sounds of breathing filled the air. The man, much older than what his face might allow, could hear the gentle, soothing beat of Temperance’s heart, deep crimson eyes half lidding in peace. Her very being seemed to be a gentle lullaby when she wasn’t radiating that brilliant optimism. What was this girl?

Before things took a turn for the questionable Cyclonus grabbed her other hand and slowly slid it away from his face. He let her arms rest at her sides as she shot her eyes down to her feet, pale face burning bright red. He could sense that she was used to following her intuition, but didn’t think of the consequences. Her full lips parted as if she wanted to say something, probably an apology, but she could only wring her shirt’s hem and bob her head left and right trying to find some words.

Thankfully a loud knock rapped on the door, calling Cyclonus’ attention. The young woman let a sigh of absolute relief escape her. Then, just as peace had come, it was whisked away by the sound of a slow, impressed laugh. A woman was clapping her hands together slowly, smirking wide in the door of the micro apartment. She elbowed her way past the man and rushed up to Temperance, grabbing her hands.

“Why hello beautiful,” she smirked, her full, dark lips parting to reveal a gleaming white smile. “Now, now, Cyclonus, it’s not nice to keep your allies in the dark.”

“Rewonda,” he began, the woman simply clicking her tongue and turning back to the girl before her.

“As Head Director of the Joyless Department has just informed you, the name’s Rewonda, surname unimportant,” she nodded, Temperance unable to hide a laugh as the girl described her new guardian. “And, who, dearest darling, are you?”

“T-Temperance Gate,” she nodded, attracted to the warmth Rewonda was radiating.

“Named for enjoying in moderation and the opposition for excess and luxury, what a find,” she smiled wide and knowingly back at Cyclonus. “A beautiful name.” Rewonda led her new friend over to the fur and quilt covered bed, both sitting and starting to chat. After a moment of laughter Rewonda, skin warm and the color of the earth, whipped her head back around to Cyclonus, looking affronted. “Tea won’t make itself.”

He gave a brutal scowl, but she wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Temperance was inspired. How did you go up against a man who seemed to make his money on grimacing and brush his bitterness off while getting him to make you tea? What courage!

However, Rewonda seemed to pay her moxie no mind. She turned back to Temperance with a swish of her thick white hair and a twinkle of her own blue eyes. She was absolutely stunning and a vision confidence. What a person to look up to. But the spunky young woman was far more interested in the sheepish one before her. There was something very unique about this one, Rewonda thought to herself. This would be the game changer.

“So, Temperance. Where are you from?”

“Ah… I used to live in the capital, but… I’m pretty sure I’m not in D.C. anymore,” she chuckled, rubbing the back of her cold sweating neck.

“Astute observation,” Rewonda beamed, crossing her legs at the ankle and sweeping them to the side like a lady. This woman was amazing, Temperance thought. “You’re in New York. The Big Apple. But seeing as you didn’t know that, now I’m really curious.”

Cyclonus turned around and saw the blinking red light on the side of the woman’s blue glasses, yanking them off her face and handing her a piping hot cup of green tea. She frowned, pouting and sighing as she turned back to her new acquaintance.

“She’s not a documentary subject, Rewind,” he snapped, using her code name almost as an insult. “And I told you to stop recording in my house.”

“This is a glorified tool shed and hand them back over before you’re wearing that hand around your neck.”

Suddenly the hostility coming from the petite young woman send a shiver down Temperance’s spine, her eyes wide and hands suddenly pressed tight against her chest. What a coin flip.

“No. Cameras,” he said firmly, snapping the glasses in his hands. Rewonda sighed and dug around in the inside pocket of her jean vest. She pulled a second pair, whipped them open and slid them onto her face, tapping the sides to indicate that the camera was off.

“But really, how of all people in this fine city, did you find the angriest of them all?”

“Ah… w-well I woke up from a coma, walked down to a garden, and sat next to him on a bench, I guess…”

The silence that filled the room was absolutely record breaking. Temperance stared between Cyclonus who was only sipping his tea quietly and Rewonda who was deciding whether she was going to bust a gut or stare in absolute awe. She scooted a few inches closer in almost near disbelief that she didn’t hear the girl right.

“You just… wait, wait… okay, you woke up from… a _coma_ , did I hear that right?” Temperance nodded, slowly. “And then you just _sat down_ next to this,” she gestured to the man becoming more irate by the second. “This is a joke, right?”

Temperance didn’t understand. Nothing was funny about it and yet Rewonda was absolutely speechless. She finally sighed out a disbelieving laugh and let it roll into a full on cackle. She held her stomach as tears filled her eyes. She hadn’t heard such a comical story in a very long time. And yet, no one else was laughing.

“Holy shit,” she swallowed. “You’re serious. Wow… oh this is great. We have to go out for coffee some time. Oh, but look at you. We need to take this ragamuffin shopping.”

“Rewonda,” Cyclonus warned.

“What?” She shot back, throwing her hands up in confusion. “She looks like she’s rocking sweaty track suit chic. The girl needs some real clothes. How can you deny her basic needs?”  
 

It became a standoff of frowning and unspoken threats, the two realizing just how strangely unfamiliar the noise of fighting was to the girl. Finally, Rewonda’s camera light blinking threateningly, Cyclonus gave a hiss of defeat. The girl smirked and turned back to Temperance, hands gripping hers tightly. “Miss Gate, you and I are going to dress you to the New York Nines,” she smiled.

 

When Temperance left the tiny apartment—which, no offense to the nameless, reluctant guardian, was a glorified tool shed—she saw that it was a small, micro-apartment atop a large, antique converted warehouse. Below him was a string of ritzy apartments for the ultra-rich while the bitter old man stayed atop the building with a small garden and gently lit space with the huge open sky.

Rewonda grabbed the handles for the fire escape and took it down, inviting a very wary Temperance to follow after. Some convincing and promises of hot coffee and clothes that fit got her moving eventually. The sky overhead was bright and large, fluffy clouds passed lazily overhead. It looked like a good day to get out of a comatose state and live a little.

Down on the street life buzzed so much that Rewonda had to shuffle the ghost colored girl into a black taxi cab before she could be shoved into sensory overload. She asked by the purple haired pilot wasn’t following and the girl only explained that Cyclonus was literally allergic to people. That got a chuckle but not before a very tall, thin bald man sitting up in the driver’s side pecked Rewonda on the cheek.

“The light of my life here is going to chauffeur us around and get you out of those sad rags. Temperance, this is Domey.”

“Friends call me Chromedome ‘cause I’m good at messin’ with people’s heads,” he smirked, golden eyes turning back to the road as he lit a cigarette and sucked it clean down to the filter before flicking it out the window. Rewonda gave him a shove and narrowed her eyes behind the blue visor glasses. He shrugged and pulled out into the wild world of traffic.

All Temperance could think about while Chromedome was zipping through traffic was how wild the world had become in her absence. What else had changed?

 

Inside the massive thrift store the racks of gently used clothing stretched from the door to the back of the store, overflowing with things priced perfectly for recently woken coma patients. One look up and down the girl and Rewonda had dragged her over to the white and frilly, floral prints and cardigans. She gabbed on about how Temperance glowed with that antique sort of sweetness and her clothes had to reflect that.

“You can’t dress a grandma in a pencil skirt and stilettos. It would just look weird.”

“Are you calling me old?”

“No, I’m just saying that you’re not suited to that man-killer look. You’re… cotton candy and bubblegum, not sherry and cigarettes.”

Temperance couldn’t deny that and besides, the clothes Rewonda… Rewind? Whatever, was piling into her arms were cute. Off white blouses and summer dresses, flats and sweaters. It was just her style. After about half an hour later the snowy girl was shoved into the dressing room with the curtain shut behind her. Rewind told her that she’d stand watch and demanded for every outfit she tried on that she’d see.

Sure enough, the young girl was paraded around in front of the beaming camera-happy woman who, obviously, was recording all of it. She teasingly parted the curtain, earning a shocked squeak from the girl as she jumped back, laughing. Temperance was just too cute not to tease.

 

Finally, two hours later, they’d checked out. Rewonda insisted upon covering the bill. Partly because she loved to dress up her friends and partly because Temperance was flat broke. After finally gathering the two huge bags full of clothes she ducked over the bags and grabbed an outfit she favored. Rewonda nodded approvingly as she skipped off to change.

Outside Chromedome checked his watch and spat cigarette butts out on the curb anxiously. His foot tapped against the concrete when Rewonda strolled outside with her hands deep in the pockets of her grey Harlem pants. “Look at my angel,” he threw his arms out wide, embracing the petite young woman. “Now, I love you with my heart and soul, but Christ, Rewind. You think you two’ve shopped long enough?”

“Hell no,” she chuckled, standing on her tip toes and kissing the man deeply when the door to the massive thrift store opened. Both of them turned to survey the now glowing girl. Temperance was dressed in a dark green sweater with an off white blouse and a black floral print skirt, tan panty hose and penny loafers fixing the outfit in the name of pure preciousness. “Oh god, Domey. She’s an angel.”

“You sure everything looks okay?” She asked, finally happy that she could walk without wobbling.

“You’re a vision,” Chromedome smiled, Rewonda elbowing him in the gut. He laughed and held her closer.

“Now,” Rewonda smirked, taking the girl’s bags. “Let’s get you really dolled up.”

 

Cyclonus sighed as he reclined on the top of his apartment, the sun fading into the distance. The night was cool, but it was refreshing. He wove his fingers behind his head and hummed to himself, the hymn soothing his tired eyes. He hadn’t slept most of the night, eyes watching the girl like a hawk. A moment of peace was only interrupted by a fitful grabbing at the sheets and furs. Temperance’s face had winced, screwing up in pain and a cold sweat as she panted through some unknown terror. Confused, Cyclonus had sat by the bed watching her.

Finally, after a long night she’d slipped back into peaceful slumber. He’d curled up beside the woodstove, scared that she’d had a reaction to the sight throbbing, carnal energy he emitted. But by the morning she was just as elusive and warm as when they’d first met.

The hymn rose into the air gently now, lips parted as the words rolled of his tongue. He savored the sound of the sweet melody, sighing out the frustrations. This girl… he’d sworn to stay far, far away from anyone after he’d washed up against the shores of the beach, his plane sinking shrapnel in the ocean. He never wanted to explain that his brothers had gone down in screaming flames and smoke while he’d been shot out of the sky by a comrade, surviving a crash certainly meant to kill. Or was it to prove a point to that rebellious fighter pilot?

“Your voice is beautiful,” a gentle voice smiled, Cyclonus jumping as he saw Temperance peering from over the edge of the roof. She was standing on the ladder attached to the wall, smiling as she rested her chin between her hands.

“You…” He began, staring at her new look. Her snow white hair was tied in a loose pony tail and slid down her left shoulder, her lips glossed gently in a pale pink, eyelashes accented with mascara. She looked even more distinct, a ray of warm moon light amidst a world of obliterating darkness.

“Rewind took me shopping. I met some of her friends and we hung out for a little while. She’s very sweet.”

Cyclonus scoffed at that suggestion, Temperance frowning. “She’s a nosy, overly curious and secretive woman. But yes, her generosity is well known.”

“What does she do? You know, for a living?” That was a very good question that had to answered in a gentle manner. How would one describe what Rewind did?

“She collects information and sells it to people who are willing to pay for it.”

“Sounds exciting. What do you do?”

With a grunt if disapproval, Cyclonus stood and motioned for her to climb back down. The thin girl jumped down and brushed herself off. She stood back so that the taller one could once more dwarf her. He held the door for her as they slipped back into the apartment.

Inside Temperance had folded her clothes on the bed and organized the shoes beneath them. She was an orderly girl at the very least. However, in the fridge along with a door full of blood packs was something unfamiliar: food. She explained that she had to eat something and blood really wasn’t her cup of tea. Cyclonus simply growled and grabbed a bag of blood and went to sit by the woodstove again. Constantly cold, always hungry, and constantly bitter: what wonderful roommate material.

Cyclonus watched as Temperance sat down on the floor close to but still distanced from him with leftover Chinese take-out. There was no microwave or plates, so cold Lo Mein it was. Seeing the sad sight Cyclonus stood and did what he could and made more tea. It was piping hot and smelled rich of wheat and earth notes. She thanked him kindly as she sipped it, watching as the dark man drunk his own dinner.

“So,” she said with a deciding sigh. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“No offense, but that is the biggest lie I have ever heard in my short life,” she said through a mouthful of noodles. He smiled softly and shook the expression off. No, no attachment.

“When I stopped aging I was twenty-eight. I was born in 1886,” he explained in a glum, textbook toned voice.

“So… you’re… One hundred and twenty-eight,” she counted in the air with a chopstick. “Wow,” she said, almost unimpressed. “That’s a long time. I’m rather unimpressive compared to you, aren’t I?” A chuckle.

“I would be dead if I had a choice.” A coldness filled the words that fell from his voice, his crimson eyes fixed on the glow of the woodstove. “I didn’t even know I’d stopped living until I didn’t die.”

Silence replaced the idle chatter once more and finally Temperance sat her food down, looking the man dead in the eye. She didn’t know much about him and she needed to call him something other than ‘sir’.

“What’s your name?”

“Can’t remember now, but they used to call me Cyclonus,” he whispered, sucking the bag of blood dry.

“Cyclonus,” Temperance smiled, nodding to herself. “Thank heavens. I just couldn’t take you seriously if your name was Gerald or something.”

Finally she got him to laugh softly, her face warming exponentially at the sound of his laugh. So there was some life left in him after all. Finally, nerve built up, she blurted it out. “C-could you sing some more?” He cocked a sharp brow curiously as the young woman stumbled over her reasons. “Your voice is s-so beautiful and I just… I’ve never heard anything like that before a-and you know… yeah…” He stood to his towering height once more and headed for the door, sliding a black leather jacket around his shoulders. Temperance watched as he opened the door and turned back, eyes gleaming red. She swallowed hard and awaited some retaliation for her discovery. He simply told her to lock the door behind him and not let anyone in who didn’t have a key. She nodded slowly, standing and looking at the number of locks. She opened the door to ask which ones, but he was already gone. Thus, faced with thirteen locks of every sort and shape, she locked them all.

The thin girl sat on the edge of the bed and felt how her heart was throbbing, almost winded the glare. It wasn’t threatening, but almost watching in a guardian-like way. Nevertheless, something was very strange. About it all, of course, but things were shifting… slowly, glacial pace even, but it was nice.

Just as she was about to lie on her side and try to remember that rich, rolling voice of a song, a pang of pain shot through her heart. She gripped her chest with wide, fearful eyes. Her shoulders shook as she closed her eyes and prayed for a reprieve from medical care. She didn’t want to go back to that pale, ghost-filled world swirling with dread. She wanted to stay with the furs and ancient quilts that smelled like smoke and flowers. She didn’t want to leave and fade into the background. Not again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brandon Blurr (Blurr)  
> Simon Wave (Soundwave)  
> Galvatron  
> Whirl + First Aid (Shit I forgot their names I'd made for humanformers fuck me just roll with it)

The alley behind the bar was dank with mold, moss, and drunken lollygaggers. A stream of hissing smoke spilled from Cyclonus’ mouth as he watched the shadows that flickered at the edge of the cesspool’s entrance. To his left the darkness swirled around the single light bulb over the red door, beckoning addicts of any and all poisons inside. He flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground and stood out in the path when the handle twisted. It stopped, slowly letting go as if something was holding them back. Finally, resolved, the door opened inward. The massive man that filled the doorway with glowing red eyes chuckled lowly as he walked down the seemingly small stairs.

“You look so menacing. It doesn’t suit you,” the voice rumbled, chuckling as he tapped the end of his cigar, gleaming ash and cinders dusting the ground as he approached his old friend. “You smell… who is she?”

Cyclonus couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Temperance came home smelling like sweet gardenia blossoms and Rewonda’s cigarettes. Flowers, however, trump smoke. The broad man chuckled and nudged his comrade in the shoulder.

“Call your men off,” the taller one said curtly, not there for the indulgence or company.

“Oh… well, you know. Large armies, ducks wandering away from the rows… Can’t help if they smell something sweet and window shop,” he shrugged, smirking as he took another long drag from the cigar.

The air between the two crackled violently even in its own silence. The larger of the two knew Cyclonus seldom became so serious or even bothered to trudge through society’s muck to warn him to stay away. This one was special. Thusly, he could twist the knife as he saw fit.

“She has white hair, doesn’t she?” He mused, the end of his cigar glowing as he took a long drag inward like a seething dragon. “They always have white hair. Rewonda, Drift, even Star… they always have that silvery light in them. But you know what to do with light best, don’t you? Even the brightest whites are only good until they’re stained.”

Galvatron, the lord of all untouchables, watched as his old friend’s fist balled angrily. It was the only reaction he wanted and he got it. He savored the sour look that was more than just general disinterest on the taller man’s face. He snickered and gripped his shoulder, watching as Cyclonus poured all his hatred into one stare.

“People are never arbitrarily followed, Cyc. Don’t make the mistake in thinking I don’t have reasons.”

Even after Galvatron’s hand had faded into a shadow and felt like nothing more than an aftershock of a great earthquake against his skin, Cyclonus felt sour. His stomach knotted as he turned, still never showing it. Besides, it was already too early to be out. Four in the morning was a strange time.

 

The eye staring over Temperance was a curious one, golden gleaming and wondering. The girl on the bed was in fact not usually the grumpy fossil of a man and if anything the girl was incredibly spritely looking. She was far too cute and alive to be in such a place. He brushed a length of her hair aside and saw just how radiant the girl was. But that still didn’t explain why she was in, of all places, the micro-packed apartment of a legendary asshole.

“Galvatron, maybe… Hell, even a dog… but why a cute girl?” The voice wondered aloud, placing hands on either of Temperance’s side and leaning in dangerously close. He squinted at her, sniffing the heavy flower scent and wondering what the hell was the deal. “Who are you?”

Just as the person above the girl had said that she roused, stretching and jolting when her skin contacted another’s. Her eyes flew wide as she saw a dark skinned boy with black hair and one gold eye leaning over her. Instincts acting before reason, she let out a piercing scream that deafened the man overtop of her. It echoed in near silence across the city, somehow only reaching Cyclonus’ ears. He instantly began running, scaling a wall and favoring roof tops to get back to Temperance as fast as he could.

Back inside the apartment the boy with one gold eye was covering his ears and wincing, having landed on a bad wound. He was cursing up a storm and stumbling to stand to his full height, frightening taller than most. He narrowed his eye, teeth grinding as Temperance scampered back to the farthest corner of the bed, heart throbbing and aching. How had he gotten in? All the locks were locked and he didn’t look the type to have a key.

“Augh… damn it,” the man winced again, rubbing his head. “What the hell you do that for?!”

Just then the door was kicked open, Cyclonus barreling in and slamming the man up against the wall. His eyes were a vicious red, teeth sharp in a snarl as he grabbed the now laughing and smirking man by his throat. He choked on an ‘uncle’ as Cyclonus held him in place. “I submit. Look, lady, call your dog off.”

“D-dog?” Temperance stammered, face turning pink. Cyclonus only slammed the man into the wall again, cracks fissuring out behind him. “Okay, okay.”

“Why are you here?”

“Admittedly I came to steal some cash. I’m broke, but then I got blindsided by this angel, a living breathing human, in your bed who did not look horridly ravished, bloody, traumatized, or turned. Thus, I lingered. Sue me,” he coughed, snickering.

“L-let him go,” Temperance blurted, covering her mouth. No, she needed to say that. “I-it’s not worth it. He didn’t touch me o-or anything. It’s okay.”

The one in his clutches watched as Cyclonus’ grip got looser before he let his feet touch the floor, the spider web crack behind him deep into the wall. The younger one gave a sighing laugh of relief, thankful he wasn’t going to break or lose anything else at the hands of clear, black and white injustice. Obviously.

“Smart lady. She’s really great. She good in bed? She looks flexible,” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, gleaning the mood from the girl’s face, it didn’t go over well. The last thing he remembered was a streak of red light as Cyclonus turned around with a fist flying through the air and then collapsing to the ground in a heap of limbs.

 

Cyclonus had offered to reheat some more left overs for Temperance as the man, named Whirl apparently, sat in a heap of blood nose and bruises by the wood stove. She graciously accepted the food, nice and warm, and sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the man. The pilot could see her curiosity and only leaned against the wall with a blood pack and made sure that he didn’t move.

“So… who is he again?”

“He’s a trouble making, trigger happy errand boy with his own agenda and one eye,” Cyclonus explained, sucking on the pack.

“And… he got in…?”

“You forgot to lock the window locks. I should have told you,” he took the blame, sucking his teeth clean as Temperance’s gaze lingered. The teeth were sharp, but nothing as they were before. She turned back to her food and thought more and more about what she’d gotten into. Did her parents miss her? Was she being looked for?

However, before her worrisome thoughts could derail her very being Cyclonus simply muttered, “Temperance,” seeing how flustered she was becoming. The surprisingly gentle timber of the man’s voice immediately spread warmth and calm through her. She nodded nervously, finishing her food and fidgeting with her hands. Finally sighing Cyclonus, again, knowing, nodded.

Temperance went to check on Whirl and made sure he wasn’t bleeding too much. Empathetic to a fault, the girl tried to lay him down so that he was at least comfortable. She got blood on her hands and jumped, but kept trying to help him. She was getting jittery and nervous, shoulders shaking as the blood smeared on her hands and knees. What was it about that deep red that was so frightening? Cyclonus grabbed the girl gently by the wrist, helping her up. “That’s enough.”

He led her over to the sink and held her hands under the water, rubbing the blood away. Temperance bit her lip as stinging tears streamed down her face. Her heart ached and she didn’t know if anyone missed her and she felt like she was lying to keep composure. Why was just being normal again so hard? What difference did eleven minutes make from eleven years really?

Pretending not to notice her strained hiccups and sobs, Cyclonus ran a towel over the girl’s hands to dry them off. He took off that large jacket and swung it around her shoulders. Her cheeks and nose were pink, palms now a similar shade from cleaning, reminding Cyclonus of a frightened child running back in from the bitter snowy cold. He simply pressed a knowing hand on her shoulder before guiding her from the apartment.

“Wh-what about Whirl?” She sniffed.

“Medics are already on their way,” the man said softly, shutting the door behind him.

 

When the First Aid Brigade got there Whirl was spitting blood off the side of the building with his nose crooked and his eye black. He smiled at the red haired nurse, flashing a toothy grin. He reached out, the medic simply ducking disapprovingly.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

First Aid was his hospital nickname because he was so good at doing his job and working with very little. However, he was working with too much now. Whirl was bloodied and his nose was broken. It would have to be reset and his injuries patched up. He was tired of running after him with a first aid kit and a frown. Why did he always have to put himself in the line of fire like that?

“Come here,” First Aid sighed, beckoning Whirl with a hand gesture. “Bend down.”

“Oh, a kiss? I thought you’d never off—AUGH!” He screamed, First Aid roughly resetting his nose. “Fucking shit, what even? Fucking hell!”

“Fully deserved.”

 

Cyclonus, on the rarest of occasions, had gone outside during sun up hours. He usually just avoided it because too many people stared and whispered, but the apartment wasn’t a good place at the time. Temperance was shaken enough for one day. Instead of skimming along alleyways as the pilot might have done when he was alone they walked down quaint back streets, avoiding the eyes of curious passersby. The young woman’s eyes kept looking at cafés that they passed, Cyclonus finally understanding.

“Are you hungry again?”

“N-no,” she lied, face pink.

“You haven’t had solid food for eleven years. Don’t force yourself to limit luxury,” the older man nodded as he held the door for her for a café-bookshop.

Inside the store the ceilings were low with exposed beams and tall, overcrowded bookshelves that smelled pleasantly of age. Cyclonus found true comfort in it, relaxing even enough to enjoy himself as he ushered the girl to the counter. Standing behind the counter was an average sized man with a mouth in a long flat line. Perched on his shoulder was a raven with glassy eyes while a silvery cat with deep blue eyes arched its back as it stretched on the counter top.

“Hello,” Temperance said sheepishly, the man only offering a soft nod.

“His name is Simon Wave. He doesn’t talk, but he knows everything there is to know about books,” Cyclonus introduced the man briefly, Simon’s response being another curt nod.

The introductions were brief as they moved between tight stacks of dusty books, getting closer to the smell of coffee and sweets. Temperance almost skipped to the smell, smile curling across her pale face. Cyclonus was happy to see that she wasn’t shaking anymore.

A pair of deep blue eyes looked up from his cellphone to see the tall, usually dull man accompanied by a ray of human sunshine despite her appearance mimicking something sheer and brief. He smiled wide, brushing his blue faux hawk gently as he straightened up off the counter.

“Morning one and all. How can I help you today? Cyclonus, nice to see you again though we’ve never really talked and, well, Simon never talks either. The bird doesn’t talk and the cat doesn’t meow, customers are the shut in quiet types, but yeah. Oh look, someone normal. Hi cutie, what can I make for you today?”

Temperance, flustered by the speed that the man talked, blinked nervously. She turned pink in the face as she tried talking a little slower to imply she had no way of keeping up with that kind of speed. Who was this guy? Unfortunately Cyclonus, just setting some money on the counter and walking over to the books, left her in the battlefield of speech.

“Um… I’m not really sure,” she laughed nervously. “What’s good for something to calm down and fill you up?”

“Well I always find calming down is boring, but if you really want that then a chai latte is good. Also, for food wise I’d recommend the berry tart. Fresh in season despite the abstract weather we’ve been having lately, right?” She laughed as he nodded, tallying the money up and giving her back the change. “So, you absolutely must tell me, what’s the deal with that dude?”

“The… deal?”

“Yeah. Like… I know he looks a little old and crusty, but is that like… your thing?” He smirked, mixing the spices and tea expertly.

“My thing? Oh… Oh gosh, n-no. Um… it’s complicated.”

“Best kind of thing, honey. Friends then?”

Temperance looked over her shoulder and watched how focused Cyclonus was on his book. His eyes were scanning quickly, but the way he held the book was lovingly despite his own nature. He held such respect for it. She smiled softly and turned back to the barista.

“Friends… yeah, I like that.”

“Well then, cutie, the name’s Brandon Blurr. Name and a nickname cause I talk fast and I like to go fast. What’s your name?” He asked as he plated the tart and slid the drink across the counter.

“Temperance… Temperance Gate,” she smiled, extending a slender hand.

“Well Miss Gate, welcome to the waking world.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have just turned any happiness on its head... Don't hate me DemonsDaughter. >

Trying to get Temperance back into the hospital a week after she’d left for the first time in eleven years was like dragging a cat to water. She grabbed for the doorframe when Cyclonus finally tucked her beneath his arms, paying the people who stared no mind whatsoever. Finally, after the third doorway, Temperance gave up and allowed the much stronger man to drag her down to Rung’s office. She folded her arms as she watched the halls turn left and right in reverse, huffing indignantly.

Finally, arriving to the quaint side door through the garden now clear of snow and steaming with humidity, Temperance was allowed to stand on her own two feet. The pilot could see just how unnerved she was by being in the confines of the medical facility, but it was a necessary psychological check up to make sure that she was adjusting well.

“It will only be an hour. Do not leave his office until I’m outside.”

“What will you do if I leave before you get here?” She asked, cock in her nerves. However, the sharp stare down Cyclonus’ sharp nose whisked away that confidence in a second.

“I’ll have to find your body floating in the Hudson.” Somehow that didn’t seem like a humorous threat, she thought to herself. He simply motioned to the door with his eyes, narrowing them to threatening slits. The young woman puffed frustrated, but defeated air as she turned around and walked through the heavy glass door. Before leaving the older man said a quiet prayer for the girl, shaking his head. Why me, he wondered.

Inside the office was a dim, overcast light that shone through the large window that joined at a corner with a wall of books in all sorts of languages. Temperance couldn’t even begin to understand what they were about, only nervously sitting in a plush arm chair and pressing her hands into her lap. Her crystal blue eyes wandered, looking at diplomas and certificates hung neatly on the wall above more bookshelves and chairs. By all accounts it was your typical high end doctor’s office.

Waiting for Rung to finish with his other patient in the droning silence of an obnoxiously loud grandfather clock Temperance closed her eyes. She listened to that heavy swing of the pendulum, each beat lulling her into a meditative state. Thoughts and memories flowed freely as if she were falling through them, body relaxing. It was a strange sensation, drifting in sound. The young woman felt the weight of her chest being pulled downward while her legs tensed to keep her upright. It was almost as if that once agitating beat had become peaceful.

In this trance state flickers of flashbulb memories faded in and out of focus beneath her eyelids. Two blurred faces, probably her parent’s, smiled and vaguely scrambled voices called things out to her in tones rather than words. She felt her heart pump fast as memories of running came into focus. She was scared and her legs ached like they had when she first woke up. She was going to be late, but something else was wrong. The corners of her vision were blurring into black when her foot missed a jump, her voice shrieking as she fell down and the earth and her collided, the darkness thickening.

Consciousness felt like ephemeral gradients from color and light to heavy, opaque shadows. Rain, cold against her hot skin, soaked her and light washed over her, deep, concerned voices shouting and whispering overhead. A siren and concerned touches brushed over her as if she were lying beneath the surface of an iced over lake, just barely able to absorb sensory input. She heard a name being called and questions being asked, but none of it ever breached that icy layer of numbness.

“Temperance?”

The girl’s lungs hitched as she sucked in air as if she hadn’t breathed in hours. Her eyes frantically shot around as Rung took several steps back, hand pressing protectively on the chest of the departing patient. Temperance was trembling as she rubbed her stinging eyes, looking up and seeing Rung and a massively built man with steely blue hair. “Temperance, are you alright?” She nodded, her throat dry and tight and her heart pounding as if it had stopped entirely. It was as if she had broken through that ice and gasped violently for air and feeling, no longer submerged in that weighted darkness. However, Rung was still not convinced she was as fine as she agreed to being. He got down on a knee and placed a hand on her shoulder, mouthing a good bye to the large man nodding and ducking out of the office. “Do you know where you are right now?”

“Your office,” she gasped, hand gripping her chest. “I’m in your office.”

“Do you know what the date is?”

“June 29th, 2014,” she nodded, grounding herself with facts.

“And what’s your name?”

“Temperance Anabelle Gate.”

Both of them sighed with relief as Rung stood to his full height—average, thank God. Deciding it would be best not to move her, Rung grabbed a chair and sat it a few feet from where the young woman sat and went to grab some session provisions from his actual office. He returned with some water, a pack of crackers to make sure her blood sugar was stable, and her file. She took them gratefully, munching on the crackers as she settled into the chair. Rung allowed the air to mellow out before he even touched the file. After seeing that Temperance was once again relaxed he commenced with the meeting.

Standard procedure Rung read the time, date, and session number aloud for both records and patient awareness. He explained that they would stop exactly at one hour and not a second before or after. She nodded in understanding, a lot less uneasy than she was when Cyclonus dragged her down the fire escape and across the street over his shoulder. At least now she wasn’t being gawked at.

“How was your first week?” He asked, hands folded in his lap.

“Ah… well…” Telling him that she’d somehow bunked with a one hundred and twenty-six year old vampire who lived in a an apartment that was a glorious, premier-level forty-by-forty garden shed atop a ritzy building. There was no easy way to say that she’d so far been pampered, snapped at, hovered over, dressed like a doll, dragged from here to there, threatened, warned, and shaken all over the mere space of seven days. She could not tell him how she laid in bed at night with wide eyes scared of falling back into a coma and that each dream she had felt more like waking up in another life and never really sleeping at all. At no point could she explain the moments when the world seemed to stop and for just a moment Cyclonus was all that mattered. There was just too much to say. “It’s been… eventful.”

“Oh? I take it you’ve met the slew of Cyclonus’ acquaintances,” Rung smiled, a knowing twinkle flickering in his bright blue-green eyes behind those small, perfectly round glasses.

“Oh, haha. Rewonda took me shopping and I met some of her friends at a movie night back at her place. Then there was the mute bookshop owner and his oddly human-like pets, the word-vomiting barista, and finally the one-eyed stalker,” she counted off with her fingers, nodding firmly with pursed lips.

“Ah, Whirl, yes,” he said.

“I figured his name was bloody nosed punching bag, but sure, Whirl’s nice, too. Why is it Whirl?”

“He’s from the Middle East and his name is very long. After about the third racist joke he decided a more English moniker would invite fewer comments about his heritage.”

“Well then… and the eye?”

“Let’s work on you today, how about that?”

 

“You’re a cheap asshole, you know that?” Rewonda puffed smoke from her slim cigarette. “Fifty… this is robbery.”

“You stole the information. Do not tell me which the moral high ground is,” Cyclonus said flatly, but he knew that his words would not bring the woman shame. She was good at what she did and proud of it. “Is this everything?”

“All ten files plus one bonus,” she winked behind those blinking blue visor sun glasses. Without so much as a warning Cyclonus grabbed them off her face and chucked them into the water. Smoothly, accustomed to the action, she put yet another replacement pair onto her face. She wasn’t stupid. All the footage was live uploaded to the cloud of information back on her mainframe.

“Bonus?” He cocked a sharp brow, looking down and flipping open the thick manila folder. Looking back at him with dull, unfamiliar eyes was Temperance, her usual light and life dulled in the photo. Her eyes were rimmed with shadows and her hair, usually neat and bright, was dingy and a mess. “What is this?”

“Her hand off records,” Rewonda said as she lit a second cigarette. “She drowned in a sea of systematic foster homes. You can literally swim in the paper trail. There’s no way the kid actually knows who or where her real parents are. Details of each hand off are inside, but warning, it’s not a fun thing to stomach. Sweet kid… kind of optimism that makes you question what had to happen to make her that way. You’ll know,” Rewonda said, tapping that file.

Cyclonus let out a sigh of frustration. He didn’t want to read it, but he couldn’t toss the folder in the trash because one of Galvatron’s men was surely lingering close behind. He slid the woman an extra twenty across the table, her full lips parting in a wide grin of appreciation. She grabbed the money and slid it into her vest pocket. “Much obliged,” she tipped her baseball cap as she stood. But before she could leave Cyclonus stopped her.

“Why do you have white hair?” He asked, Galvatron’s words itching at the back of his mind. Rewonda searched the man’s eyes for intent, giving a knowing smile and turning around toward her ride.

“Domey asks that question all the time. You boys are sure hung up on genetics,” she chuckled, flicking her cigarette butt into the dirt and stamping it out. “Hell if I know. Maybe it’s like a highlighted word in a sea of black and wide textbook lingo. We’re meant to be found because we all have these damn eyes and this inalterable hair. Even if you don’t want to be found, light can always be seen in a sea of dark.”

Thick, salt-heavy air swept across the pier as the girl hiked back up the beach and hopped into the cab and left. Checking the time, the pilot saw that it had been an hour: time to go pick up the far more complicated young woman than once thought.

 

“I do know, by the way,” Rung said after wrapping up their first session. “And it’s incredibly unlikely you don’t know what I’m talking about having stayed with him for a week. After all, you’ve met Rewonda.”

“She looks…” Temperance began, Rung nodding. “The hair and the eyes and…”

“That’s not yet been explained, but you must keep any and all wits about you. There are things that go bump in the night besides intrigued, one-eyed immigrants. And do remember to lock the windows.”

“Wait…”

Knuckles rapped against the glass door, Cyclonus standing outside. He looked pissed at the sun, shielding his eyes with a scowl cut deep into his face. Before she could even turn to confirm what she was seeing Rung just explained that hard light was hard on Cyclonus’ eyes, not, unlike media stereotypes, that he was sizzling beneath that jacket. Although he did seem a bit overdressed.

“Same time in two weeks?”

The girl nodded as she stood, sincerely thanking the man for all his help before turning to leave. Outside the garden had baked in humidity and heat that could only be described using words that weren’t very polite sounding. She instead made a loud, heavy groan mixed with a growl of disapproval.

“What _is_ this?”

“New York summers,” he said simply, ushering her forward.

“But wait, doesn’t… heat rise?”

“Yes.”

“Your house is on top of a building…”

“Yes it is.”

“And heat rises.”

“Why are you repeating this?”

“It’s going to be hotter than the eighth level of hell up there,” she said, dreading climbing the baked hot steps of the fire escape.

“You’ll manage.”

“I get the feeling sometimes you don’t care,” she said, trying to elicit some response of empathy or defense. However, Cyclonus simply remained silent. She let her mouth hang in shock as her brows furrowed. Not even a denial. How cruel. Head turned off to the side, pretending to check down a hall for someone, he indulged in a smirk. Just every once and a while it was good to let some humor in. Unfortunately a girl named Temperance was trying to force him to become spoiled on that warmth.

 

Sure enough the rooftop apartment was channeling some serious hot spring’s sauna energy. Temperance had, with permission, stripped down to a borrowed bra from Rewonda and matching panties. She angled a fan she found that had been kicked under the bed straight towards her, sprawled out on the bed. Cyclonus, however, seemed entirely unaffected by the heat. In fact he’d shed a layer of clothes for once and was wearing a black t-shirt.

Temperance, sitting up on the bed and glaring at her comfortable counterpart, barked, “How are you so cozy looking?”

“Naturally cold blooded people prefer hotter climates,” he simply said, grabbing the files he’d paid for.

“What are those.”

“Profiles.”

“Of?”

“People.”

“Oh, please. Slow down there, soldier. Too much talking at once might make my brain bleed. Be gentle with the coma patient,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes.

Cyclonus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to the young woman. She was sitting on his bed, legs parted as she bent over and rested her elbows on her knees, head tilted up to face him. Nothing about her posture or countenance said that even a drop of shame filled her. He couldn’t decide if that was good because she was comfortable or because she’d not taken part in the part of society that would have told her that sitting in her underwear in a man’s house is considered sleazy.  Considering that neither of them had any sexual interest in the other it wasn’t a particular issue. Besides, that shade of blue suited her.

“Temperance, take this in any way you like, but don’t you have family to go back to?”

Not missing a beat, the girl smirked and leaned back on her palms, legs crossing. She sighed and smiled to herself. What a complicated question surely to have a loaded answer.

“If they wanted me wouldn’t they have been at the hospital to claim me?” She retorted, that momentary spark of confidence making her cocky.

“You never let Rung call them.”

This dropped cold water on the young woman, her gleam of cunning attitude fading as her smile left with it. She sucked in her bottom lip as she looked up at him. So he wasn’t as in the dark as she’d liked him to be. “You didn’t let him call them because you didn’t want to go back. For whatever reason, I will know soon enough,” he waved her file in the air. He watched as her eyes went dark and wide, her gaze falling into space. “Would you like to tell me anything before I read it from the perspective of a coded system?”

He watched the process of thought run over the woman’s face. Regret, shame, anxiety, and then finally resolve faded across her face. She swallowed and bit back the choking sensation in her throat. “I didn’t lie. Page one to thirty will say that I… made false claims against the, uh… pff, good people, right? Yeah… I can’t even fake bravery without my shoulders shaking so lying it definitely out. Just… I never lied.”

As he reached for the door handle to go sit up on the rooftop Cyclonus gave the young woman’s trembling shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze. No words, no comedic banter, just a silent gesture of belief. She nodded, and waved a hand as she rubbed it against her nose, shaking off the feeling of tears in her eyes.

She finally felt an itching on her skin like eyes were watching her, sliding a sweater on her thin frame. She felt that throbbing breathlessness rush over her as she paced the apartment. Where in the hell had he gotten that folder?

 

Cyclonus stared at the face that was both distinctly Temperance’s and not. The girl in the photograph had been captured by a traffic cam running from what looked like nightmares personified. Her eyes were wide, but still half-lidded from sleeplessness. Several pictures of that nature followed, the sheet-white girl racing down the street as a greyish blur chased after her. The pilot raised the photo close to his face. It wasn’t a faulty camera, it didn’t capture whatever was after her. But as far as the records were concerned they only cared about the girl running from it.

The file’s first page was a standard custody sheet with all her information and some footnotes about her mental state. Those following were page after page of foster family transfer requests and stops at orphanages. She’d lived with more families in nine years than any child should have to endure. It looked like when she was nine, right before she fell into a coma, she was staying with a social worker. It seemed to be a nice fit for the time being. It looked even like Temperance was going to be adopted.

And yet, something happened that night in July. The social worker went missing and no body was ever found, although she was presumed to be dead. Temperance had been found three miles from her house in a sink hole underground with her legs broken. Hence why she was wobbly on her first few days out of the bed.

Nevertheless, a factor could not be overlooked: it was always the foster family that applied for Temperance’s transfer. Every time the reason was the same: hysterics and hallucinations, family unfit to care for child. Cyclonus may have been a distant person with a level of distrust to anyone and anything, but he wouldn’t be so oblivious as to not notice hallucinations and sudden outbursts of violence. The most Temperance had ever done in the ways of violence was fighting the entire way to the hospital even though she would only be there an hour or so. But it was the details and interviews that caught the man’s eye.

_Temperance shows signs of paranoia and is convinced that she’s being followed by what she calls ‘the grey man with red eyes’. She believes that this man can permeate all aspects of her life, saying that she’s seen him in dreams and during the day. To be diagnoses, most likely candidates…_

“Grey… man?”

“I wasn’t a very literate child,” Temperance murmured. Cyclonus whipped around to see the girl standing in the oversized sweater and a long tunic on the edge of the apartment opposite to him. “I should have said something like a man shrouded in grey smoke that smelled like iron and rot. His eyes were deep set in his head and glowed like a monster’s and he had a mouth full of razor sharp teeth and nails like blades. He followed me everywhere… right up to the point that I nearly died.”

Cyclonus saw the distant look in her usually lively eyes and knew that she wasn’t lying. Hallucinations… what dolt in the advocacy department fudged the facts on that one?

“I don’t even remember this woman’s name. She was perfect. I never wanted to leave. She gave me this book about the stars and constellations and their history. I’d spent hours looking up at the sky thinking of how great it would be to fly out there and explore. I planned on it too, but now the world seems so confined. I know she’s dead. Whatever that thing wanted it wasn’t going to wait for it.”

“You said it smelled like…”

“Blood… and decomposing flesh,” she said quietly, just above the city’s white noise buzzing beneath them. “It would be somewhere whenever I tried eating so I got sick to my stomach and when I tried sleeping to keep me awake. The hallucinations and outbursts were side effects of sleep deprivation and being starved. I can’t really decide what’s more amazing: the fact that I lived through that or that they could never see or smell how noxious it was.”

After a long moment of quiet Temperance walked across the tarred roof and kicked the pebbles from underneath her shoes, sitting down beside Cyclonus. The man watched nervously as she sat on the edge and leaned her head against his shoulder. He wanted to object, but she looked so tired that shoving her away would just add to the tension. “You’re strong… I could see that in the garden when I first woke up… I don’t know if I gravitated to you or if I was still running from it, but I knew you’d keep me safe.”

“I can’t keep you safe,” Cyclonus said softly, watching as the girl leaned back up and sighed. She stood and walked over to the ladder, heading back down to the apartment.

“Take the compliment once in a while. You think so lowly of yourself and others… it really shows. Try stepping out into the light for some warmth for your soul sometime, okay?” She smiled over her exhausted expression. It was radiation that infected anything around her. Cyclonus refused to return the gesture, turning back to the files as the petite girl shuffled inside. She’d had enough of unloading intensely emotional baggage for one night.

“Temperance,” the rough voice called.

“Ye—es?” She replied, walking backwards so that she could see him.

“Come back up.”

Not questioning the purpose the girl sluggishly climbed the ladder and stood back on the roof once more, watching as the pink and gold sunset gleamed on the horizon between towering skyscrapers and old buildings. She looked at him, still rather nervous about what he was going to say. “Sit down.” This made the young woman smile softly, nodding and siting so that she leaned against his back. She closed her eyes and smiled.

Just when he knew she was about to drift off Cyclonus parted his lips in a song. Temperance knew better than to fall asleep so fast, beaming as the resonance of his voice vibrated through her back like a gently rocking, the song erasing the jitters that had filled her. She mouthed the words along with him, voice finally picking up and catching on.

“Louder,” Cyclonus said. “You don’t sing hymns like you hum tunes. Sing them with your soul.”

This made her smile wide as she raised her voice, sighing sweetly as her voice carried along with his much more experienced tune. She dropped the hymn here and there, but it was together enough. She felt relief and peace rush through her as sleep crept back over her, Cyclonus still singing, his voice softer now. It was bliss. You could almost forget the cold and stillness of his body in such a comfortable state. Almost as if passion revived him even just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't choppy, gosh. I couldn't sleep last night and so I was writing from 1 to six this morning. 
> 
> Any and all comments/feedback is greatly welcomed on the art, writing, or mix.   
> Thanks again for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me father for I have sinned. I've hurt a precious kitten. 
> 
> Warning if any of you guys are sensitive to cancer, terminal illness, death, trauma, blood, gore, ect mentions please be warned that this chapter is heavy on all of those. Please be careful and feel free to send me a message for a chapter summary minus all of those and I'll do my best. 
> 
> DemonsDaughter, forgive me. *wails*

When dusk had set in and the night sky went dark with that faint city glow Cyclonus lifted the slumbering Temperance into his arms. He stared down at her peaceful face, hands grabbing for his chest in her sleep. She trusted so easily and yet the world never gave her a reason to. He held her tightly to his chest as he climbed down the ladder with one hand, her heartbeat hot against his chilled skin.

No… focus…

Inside the apartment it was dark because the candles had faded out and the woodstove only glowed dimly with embers crackling in its iron belly. The tall man gently rested the girl on the bed, pulling one of the thick quilts over top of her. She turned as her brows furrowed. Her teeth gritted in her sleep, the pilot watching curiously. Then the expression of pain faded and she curled in on herself beneath the warm blankets.

Sighing, he took the trip back outside to get some wood. As he lifted some of the kindling and logs into his arms he thought about what Rewonda had said. Highlighted words that drew the eye’s glance instantly, beams of light in the storms of darkness that always attracted their own smudging charcoal to their brilliant souls. Surely there had to be a correlation.

Back inside it was remarkably quiet. Usually there was the white noise of the city or a gentle hum of prayer from Cyclonus, but it felt peaceful to be in the silence for the first time in a long list of years. He locked each and every lock from within, stuffed the wood into the fire, and rekindled the candles on the altar as he absorbed that once lost sound. Then, recalling that blissful moment on the roof, he smiled to himself. Temperance had a beautiful voice even if she wasn’t accustomed to the heavy language against her tongue. She could adjust. She would be a beautiful singer.

 

Locked inside her mind the young woman tossed in her own demon’s shadows. Her feet stung as she ran, branches and weeds whipping at her face and arms. She ran faster than she ever thought she could, throat burning as she panted in the icy winter air. So much blood and teeth, that thick rotting smell filling the air as it lurched through the house, panting her name like a starved animal. Its lips ran red with blood as the eyes, sunken deep in its head, gaped at her.

“Absol… solution…” It sputtered, thick streams of saliva, blood, and pus pooling beneath the creature, ash caking its body. “Absolution… blood of the lambs… forgive me,” it said through a crackling voice. “Forgive me!”

Rain poured down overhead in the stead of a snowy blizzard, but it felt like icy needles against her as her clothes were shredded by the pure speed she bolted away from the house. Finally, fearing the creature was close behind, flush with the skin of her neck, the ground beneath her gave way and she let out an ear splitting scream. The world around her went dark with a thud, colliding with the earth like a car hitting a wall. Pain stabbed through her legs, but the smell of darkness and decomp had faded. It was okay to sleep… sleep so you never have to wake in a world of nightmares again… just sleep.

 

A sharp gasp erupted from Temperance as she bolted upright, her face drenched in an icy sweat. She stared around the room for a long five minutes, body shaking and heart pounding. Where…? Where was she? Her legs felt numb and her eyes felt tired, unable to properly focus.

Finally, a familiar grip rested on the young woman’s shoulders. She shot her eyes up to Cyclonus who looked concerned as best as he could. He was talking to her, but it sounded like she was still in the dream, unable to really hear anything.

Seeing her disoriented state, the man sat down on the bed and grabbed her face. He pulled it close to his, pressing their foreheads together. He whispered that same protective prayer over her as her eyes gently softened. Her tremors ceased and the look of panic dulled to a soft drowsy look. Temperance focused on the cool of Cyclonus’ skin against her own, breathing in time with the man as he instructed.

“Are you here?” Temperance nodded, eyes closed and lips pursed, thankful beyond belief that she was okay. “Good… great…” He whispered, eyes glowing a bright red and lips parting in a wide, sharp toothed grin. His skin paled blood and the stench of something evil radiating from his mouth. “Forgive me… forgive me!”

 

Cyclonus held the girl down, her screams filling the air like a cornered animal close to death. Her eyes were wide open, but their unfixed nature showed she was still dreaming. He pushed his down harder, her nails digging into his skin and drawing blood as she bucked against his hold. Her entire body fought against him, tears streaming down her face as she roared, fear overcoming her.

“Temperance!” He snapped, the girl quieting, shakily looking over to him. Her teeth gritted as her chest was wracked by a hard, heaving sob. She rested her head back as the childish wails took over, body vibrating as she came down from that horrible nightmare. Her hands shook as the blood streamed down Cyclonus’ arm, apologizing profusely. The pilot watched as the fearful relief washed over her, pulling her bloody hand away and shielding her eyes. What had she seen in her dreams to drive her to such a primal sort of terror?

 

After some assurance that she was fine enough to take a shower and scrub the blood out from beneath her nails, Cyclonus handed her a towel and guided her outside in the chilly dawn to the outhouse and microshower. Everything was so small, but Temperance didn’t care. She still felt vaguely surreal, her footing shaky and eyes heavy.

“S-sorry,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…. Your arm…” He simply brushed it off and shut the door behind her, returning to the apartment.

Once inside Cyclonus read the profiles backwards and forwards, subconsciously processing what could be the clues of why Rewonda and Temperance shared that trait. It had to be a factor somehow. But who would know… who knew an excess of seemingly unspoken knowledge?

 

Rung was curled up against the broad chest of the man aptly named by his coworkers as Fort Max. The man was a prison warden who actually did a respectable job. He was built like a draft horse and had the heart of a gentle giant, his grey blue hair accenting his angular face. It was a comfortable space to be for someone so small in comparison. He could have stayed there forever. However, his work phone had different plans.

Both of the men grumbled when the old telephone ringtone sounded through the hazy dawn of their bedroom. Rung slammed his hand down on it, trying to silence the mechanism like a clock. Unfortunately it was not such a device and eventually he had to answer it.

Sleepily flipping it open, hand reaching for his glasses blindly in the dun of the early morning. However, the voice on the other side of the line was much less exhausted.

“Rung what do you know of the mental effects of near death experiences in sleep?” Came Cyclonus’ voice. This query had the man sitting upright in his bed, eyes focusing.

“If real enough it can actually kill the person… why?”

“Explain it with God, science, or the supernatural, I don’t care, but Temperance needs to see you today.”

Rung was already tying the drawstring of his bathrobe around his waist with his phone crammed between his shoulder and his ear, heading to the kitchen for some caffeine by the time Cyclonus had explained what had happened only moments before. He was scribbling down the symptoms on the back of a cereal box with a Sharpie when he felt Fort Max’s hands wrap around his middle.

“Let’s not pretend here, you have a comprehensive history file, correct?” Cyclonus regrettably admitted his possession of her should-be sealed records. “Bring that in. I can be at the office at… eight, give or take a few minutes,” he said as he checked the clock on the wall. “Come straight to the office, alright?”

The man sighed as Fort Max handed him coffee just how he liked it. He thanked his partner softly, head throbbing at the thought of the day’s tasks. He had to do an emergency session with Temperance and then Whirl after lunch… it was just so much.

“Hey,” the prison warden whispered, tilting Rung’s chin up. He kissed the smaller’s lips softly, smiling after. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll do great.”

“I’m not unconfident in my abilities… I’m worried for Temperance’s safety.”

 

Cyclonus sat with the girl on the early morning bus, drunks and the elderly riding close to the front. The harsh yellow glow flickered overhead as Temperance leaned on the man’s chest. Her eyes were rimmed with half-moon shadows, her gaze unfixed. Her hands shook in her lap, tears threatening to roll down her face white as a sheet. Sighing, resolved to give the girl her own moment, the pilot took a hand and wrapped it around Temperance’s. She sniffled, rubbing her nose as she whispered a raspy thanks.

The bus ride was a long one, bumping around corners and whirring with that loud groaning engine until it hissed to a stop on the corner of the street where the massive hospital ominously stood. Temperance wobbled on her feet, body still shaking from when she woke up. Cyclonus took one look and bent at the knee, offering to carry her. She fell into his arms with a gasp, gripping him tightly as if her mind had briefly fallen asleep. He held her tightly to reassure her that she was awake, letting the silence of the lightening morning wash a reassuring glow over her. Unfortunately a massive Atlantic storm was brewing in the distance.

Tears silently streamed down Temperance’s face as she was carried, mind still confused by what she’d seen. Cyclonus was not the grey man who’d ripped her life apart. It was a hallucination, she chanted to herself. It was safe in his arms. And yet she was so scared.

The garden smelled of rich soil and fresh air, frost twinkling against leaves and petals. Rung was standing outside of his office holding the door open for Cyclonus, face twisted in worry. Temperance looked shaken beyond belief, showing signs of shock.

Inside the office it was warm and the young woman was seated on a firmer chair. Rung offered her a blanket, her extremities chilled and tipped in pink. She graciously, silently accepted the offerings, eyes fixed on the floor the entire time. Rung whispered something to her guardian who gave a firm, grim nod and left. Then there were two.

“Temperance… I know you’re probably sick of hearing this question, but do you know where you are?”

“The hospital in your office, the back room, not the waiting room,” she said, voice crackling. “I know where I am.” A sigh of relief escaped the psychologist as he took his own seat. “I’m here… because I couldn’t separate a dream from waking up… and I hur… I hurt…” She began, tears spilling over her face as she bit back the sobs forcing their way up her throat. She ground her teeth as the she helplessly sniffled, tears flowing freely.

“Take your time.”

“The reason… I told you not to call my parents… I don’t know where they are… I don’t know who they are… All my legal guardians gave me up and the one I might have had a chance with was murdered. I was too old to be fed back into the system. So I clung to… to this stranger in some medicinal garden,” she rambled, floodgates of emotion and thought broken open. “I wanted to run away. I wanted to be with someone who could keep this monster away.”

“What monster?”

Temperance’s eyes shot straight up and stared deeper into Rung’s eyes than anyone had before in his life, her sharp blue gaze piercing through him. It was a look of a deer in the headlights and a cry for rescue, all locked in silence. It was a flashback. Rung watched, not wanting to trigger another attack like that morning. Silently he watched as her hands clamped tightly together until her knuckles went white, her lips shaking as she tried to force words to explain.

“M-man… manifested corruption,” she whispered, shoulders shaking. “Rotting flesh, blood, disease, plagues, and greed wrapped in a body… I know he’s real… The others never saw, but the social worker… Verity something… She saw him right before it… before it…” Rung made a dash for a small trash can, seeing the look of nausea over the young woman’s face. Sure enough her stomach purged itself into the trash can. She coughed up acid and mouthfuls of blood. The doctor’s eyes widened as he saw the crimson staining her lips, even the girl’s eyes wide. She looked up at him, fear written across her soft face.

“Temperance…”

 

Ratchet pressed his lips into his forefinger and thumb, eyes hard as he watched the girl while she laid perfectly still in the MRI scanner. Rung was there simply as a witness, Cyclonus forced to sit like the menace he was in the waiting room, face grim and frown almost carved into his hard lined face. People avoided him, not sure if he was angry or grieving or both.

Inside the dimly lit room where the controls were the two doctors watched as the nurse, Whirl’s saving grace, controlled the machine and carefully scanned the MRI digital imaging with lightning speed and the eyes of an eagle. If anyone was good enough to find an anomaly, no matter how smart, it was the hyper-empathetic and creative one known as First Aid. He raised two fingers, calling Ratchet over as he froze a sliced scan around her throat.

They both stared at the images for a long time with a grim expression. Ratchet balled his fist as he told First Aid to send the scans up to the Oncology department for a second opinion. It wasn’t necessary, just standard protocol. There was no doubt it what it was. Now it was who would be tasked with telling her. And who would be there in case Cyclonus reacted badly. No one wanted to be there to see what he would do when he was told the one person that got close to him would be close no more.

 

Temperance trembled in the chair of the massive office. The room was built of in-wall bookshelves, green collegian lamps, and paintings that accented diplomas and graduate degrees. In any other case it would have been an academically and professionally impressive setting had it not been associated so many times with fear and despair. You’d think the doctor would decorate it with flowers and bright colors to open the option for optimism.

However, those who entered the spacious Oncology counselling office were not there to hear positive things. When First Aid wheeled her down to the cancer department his hand was on her shoulder reassuringly the entire time, clearly skilled with driving the wheelchair one handed. His bright red hair and gentle blue eyes flashed overhead when the girl looked up, his expression grave. And yet his support for her never wavered. Now, waiting in the office, it felt like all she needed was Cyclonus’ reassuring touch.

The doctor came in and sat down, not beating around the issue. She looked up from the files and folded her hands together on top of the desk. She explained that the reason she had vomited up blood was because of something called adenocarcinoma of the esophagus. It was confirmed after the endoscopy of her throat that was done shortly after her MRI.

“All we can say is that being a long term comatose patient with the hospital the disease almost certainly should have been detected. It is an absolutely err on our part. Legally speaking I’m not supposed to say that… but it should have been detected,” she explained, face dark. The small young woman, barely standing over five foot five, looked even smaller at that news. The doctor pushed the box of tissues towards her as the girl started sobbing. Her hands shook as she blew her nose, entire body reduced to a collection of tremors. “The life expectancy rate is approximately eighteen percent, but at stage four… it’s more of a miracle statistic offered for the public, really. We can give you pain medication and advise you on improving your health towards the end, but being realistic there is only about from a few weeks to a few months left.”

 

Cyclonus met Temperance at the door while she was in a wheelchair, hospital procedure to guide her to the door. Ratchet simply gave him a look and nodded goodbyes. They hadn’t met on the best of terms and so there wasn’t really a point for idle chatter. One finally goodbye and the doctor had retreated back to the familiar comforts of the hospital’s latex and background buzz of work.

Outside the storm had grown closer and the sky dark, cold, out-of-season winds rushing against the city. Temperance shivered, but not because of the cold. She bit back more sobs as she smiled up at Cyclonus who simply nodded. The walked back to the bus stop, the young woman weaving her fingers into the pilot’s hand, smile fading as the reality set in. Her body was working against her, imprisoned in her own bones. But now all she could do was hold the strong, cold hand and pray that she was still dreaming. The first time in a very long time she wished it was all just a black-smeared figment.

 

Temperance’s entire body shook when she sat on the edge of Cyclonus’ bed, tears running like a river when she explained what she was told. The room felt impossibly full and yet at the same time glaringly empty. She tugged hard on the sleeves of her sweater, lip bitten so hard that it was a deep pink when she finally parted them. Instead of that quietly comforting sigh and hard press against her shoulder the man turned to leave.

“Y-you’re leaving?” She rasped, face marked with confusion and pain.

“As opposed to what?”

She shook her head, hiding her new round of sobs. She waved him off, numb with pain. It was almost as if the second the cancer was found her body knew to feel the constant ache close to her heart. The pain medication, she was told, would take a little while to set in being her first dose.

Outside the storm broken open in a torrent of rain, sheets of the storm washing against the buildings as thunder rolled overhead. Cyclonus stared up at the sky and closed his eyes. He clenched his fist, sharp teeth gritting as he tried to decide how to react. His eyes burned as if he could scream and cry, but his throat only clenched and the only water on his face was the rain. Instead, roar escaping him into a boom of thunder, the pilot raked his nails across his face, points sharpened on command. Blood ran down his face, the gashes scarring the already dark expression. He felt the burn of healing in his face, cursing the gift he was forced to accept all those years ago.

But who else should be take his rage out on than the person who gave him that bitter immortality: Galvatron.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The same trigger warnings apply to this chapter as well.   
> Introduce Swerve, the nameless bartender with a mouth, the mentioned but unnamed Skids, and the emotionally vacant Cyclonus. *throws glitter*   
> And implied past Galvatron/Cyclonus   
> ENJOY.

Galvatron clipped the end of the cigar and smirked. A strike of a match flared and illuminated the end as he puffed the end, orange glowing in the dark. He crossed a thick, strong leg over the other as he reclined in the red leather chair in his office. A thick miasma of heavy bass and smoke swirled in the room as he sighed to himself peacefully. It was another night than rang in his ears like a sweet song played too loud. It was perfect. And by the notes of smoke and flowers in the air there was someone behind him. His lips curled into a wide smile, teeth sinking down into the cigar.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Galvatron chuckled, four claws rising over his Adams apple. The touch was cold and calculating, thoughtfully sinister in a way that could only be Cyclonus’. Even when he was younger and more free he was quiet and looked as if he’d seen too much of the world’s muck already. But now, the way the nails dug into his neck, Galvatron knew that the past was catching up with him.

“Do you remember the story your grandmother used to tell the children before they went to bed?” Cyclonus’ voice hissed, his voice right next to Galvatron’s ear like a threatening, icy cold. “She would tell us the story of the Romanovs and their monsters. The royal family was only a figurehead for the secrets they so desperately tried to hide. It was the only reason Rasputin was close to them… they were hiding a horrible creature that terrorized the burning colds of the deep Russian wilderness.”

“I remember,” Galvatron smiled contentedly. He missed Cyclonus’ touch. “The Soot Snow Spirit. It was a metaphor for starvation, war, pestilence and plagues. Only it had manifested by way of corruption, right? I forget, it’s been so long since I’ve heard the story.”

“It was a bloodling that fed on life itself, draining humans not just of blood, but of essence. Until the sound of death’s scythe sharpening close behind in the darkness did the bloodling realize its sins,” Cyclonus hissed, grip tightened, another hand positioning itself over Galvatron’s heart, nails posed and ready to sink in his chest and twist. “Legend says that only the blood and life of an angel could offer the rogue absolution and entrance into heaven. But angels aren’t real… are they?”

“They are not,” the broader man nodded, swallowing so that the taller could feel the motion. He wanted to see just how far Cyclonus was willing to go. “Fairy tales for the paranormal underground to keep them convinced that when they die there isn’t a black pit of suffering awaiting their amorality. Why the sudden interest, Cyc?”

“The closest thing to an angel is an empath, a banshee, and a harpy. Now, Galvatron, we’ve both been alive for a very long time. I would have preferred to stay dead when my fighter plane went down in the third war, but God did not see my demise fitting to his great design. So enlighten me, as I abhor the world you dragged me into, what do all of those creatures have in common?”

Galvatron chortled lowly in the dark as the grip around him tightened to a threatening force. And so the pieces had come together. Harpies, at their very core, were constant talkers with the occasional ability to fly if their wings aren’t clipped, eyes sharp and sure. Banshee’s shrieks can find death in the loudest of places, their wails telling sailors and the darkened souls of wanders to turn back. Empaths were just augmented human souls, but their kindness and empathy knew no bounds. Their auras could fluctuate like an ocean, constantly absorbing psychic energy and emotions, susceptible to a slew of mental diseases and body effects of taking another’s pain. However, all of those creatures, as unique as they were, had the ghostly white hair of a spirit and glowing, glacial water eyes that shone brighter than any stone. Highlighted, unique in abilities and appearance: they were meant to be found. And who were those Cyclonus knew that looked like that? Rewonda always said that the sun hurt her eyes, hence the glasses, but she really didn’t want her eyes to be the dead giveaway. Temperance was just blind to her own skills as a psychic sponge, not knowing to hide that bloodline beacon.

“I do believe you’ve answered your own question there, Cyclonus.”

“This world is rotting from the darkness and you threw rogues on her?”

“Oh, no, that’s where you’re wrong,” Galvatron nodded, grabbing Cyclonus’ wrist and bending it to a threatening angle that could snap it. “This little pet project you’ve been keeping is only a recent discovery of mine. I do not tolerate rogues in my ranks. They are taken out back as they deserve. What good is having a dog if its soul drive is to bark and howl, alerting your prey to your location? I thought you smarter, Cyclonus,” Galvatron crooned, slamming the man against the wall.

A moment of heat spread between the two cold beings, Cyclonus shooting a menacing glower down at his old friend. They’d parted ways after Galvatron pulled Cyclonus’ body from the water, laughing off the death surrounding them. He’d thought it so funny that they’d survived while blood soaked the sand fire crackled against the black sea. Death screamed in the air and it was all just a joke.

The older of the two could sense this hatred in the air, sucking in against the cigar and sighing the smoke right into the younger’s face. He let an amused, mocking laugh roll off his lips as he watched the look on Cyclonus’ face. He clicked his tongue and leaned in close, prying the pilot’s legs apart with one of his own.

“What’s so special about the little empath, huh?” The man teased, pressing a hand against Cyclonus’ neck. It was met with a cringe and a low, guttural rumbling in the man’s chest. “Does her excess of emotions help you rediscover your own or does she offer you something… more primal?” He hissed, pulling the man against him.

Seeing that Cyclonus hadn’t so much as faltered as he might have in his youth Galvatron half-lidded his eyes in irritation. He missed that boy he’d met in the village in the snow. He was a mystery: quiet, enigmatic, and most of all an educated beauty with piercing eyes. They had always stared with such unspoken thoughts even before crimson swirled in place of their natural brightness. However, those days seemed to finally be gone. “What did you gain by carving up your face?”

“Solidarity,” Cyclonus spat, shoving Galvatron aside and storming from the room.

“Hate me if you wish, but you’ll want to hurry home. If the bloodling has gotten into her mind’s eye then it isn’t far behind. When the full moon lands on this Friday the Thirteenth the gates of the afterlife are said to open wide for all of one hour. If she’s going to be taken any time and drained dry… it would be today… being Tuesday.”

 

Temperance had blood running down her chin from another round of throwing it up. The drugs weren’t sitting with her well even though they were necessary. She shook a little as she flushed the toilet of the outside bathroom, rubbing her face clean on a towel. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw just how pail and scared she looked. Darkness lingered in her face and it looked far more sallow than she could have recalled. She really was at her end. And after waking up, too.

She stared at herself for a long time, sucking in her bottom lip as she tried smothering that memory of Cyclonus’ blood under her nails. She’d scrubbed it frantically away as she sobbed, slinking down to her knees under the hot, rain water tank spray. Cyclonus’ arm was healed by the time they got to the hospital to see Rung, but it didn’t stop her from feeling sick with regret. Among other things.

A rattling sound echoed from outside her thoughts, Temperance’s eyes widened as she turned her head. She stared at the door handle that was rattling frantically now, almost desperate to open the door. The girl pressed her back up against the sink, hands shaking as she gripped it for support.

“Cyc…. Cyclonus?”

No… this was a low, guttural panting like an animal cornering prey. It scratched and made soft breathing noises, rubbing its form against the door. It had found her. But she wouldn’t scream. That’s what she told herself anyway. She’d steeled her mind for seeing that thing again, but part of her had lost all of her strength in favor for shaking.

Suddenly the world went quiet, the girl’s pale, trembling hand grabbing at the handle. She slowly twisted it and threw it open, raising a bar of soap as her one and only defense. She opened her mouth to give a scream, but there was nothing there. She peeked out from around the corner of the bathroom door and around the other side, profoundly surprised that she was alone. She sighed in relief, walking out after replacing the soap in her stead. She grabbed the door and threw it shut, turning and nearly fainting. There, looming from behind the door, was an impossibly tall, grey creature with sunken red eyes and a primal hunger in its eyes like nothing she’d ever seen before. Blood soaked its face among other fluids, its mouthful of sharp teeth snapping towards her.

 

Cyclonus was already running through the rain when the ear splitting scream echoed through the city. A few looked up and wondered what was going on, but the tall pilot knew far better. He picked up speed, not caring if he defied the natural odds of the world. His hands grabbed onto the brick edging of the building he lived atop, scaling it at a frightening speed. He threw himself over the edge, running around the building. Nothing. Inside the apartment was even more of nothingness. His crimson eyes shot around, body still moving in a search when the scream, erupted from him like a lion’s roar. He was too late.

The air crackled and burned around him as he caught the stench of rot in the air. Though it was putrid and heavy with the layers of iron and festering sores, there was a trail. However, there were other matters to attend to first.

Whirl stood defiantly on top of the apartment with his black-blue hair whipping in the wind. His bright gold eye twinkled in the dimming darkness, smile wide as he looked down at the man summoning his own evils.

“Quite the sight. I didn’t think the stiff had it in her,” he nodded, almost like a proud father.

Before he could explain Whirl’s head was kissing the tarred rooftop of the building with a loud thud and crack of the material. He lurched, shock fading into a defiant smirk. “Kill me? When I saw where that thing took her? How unwise. You’re really getting senile in your old age,” Whirl threw him back, yanking a pistol from his pocket and clocking it over the man’s head. Cyclonus reeled, blood running down his face. He winced, the fiery healing stinging against his temple.

Whirl, wobbling to his feet, pulled the gun back with a satisfying snap of the bullet getting in place. He loved that methodical sound. Such a sweet, satisfying noise to hear before an earth shattering bang. However, he’d idled to long. Cyclonus grabbed a fistful of that black blue hair and pulled the young man forward by his head, the man’s knee coming up and digging into Whirl’s diaphragm. He coughed a mouthful of blood, vision going white for a blink before he felt a fist throw him sideways onto the roof. His body had no time to recover when the pilot was pulling him up off the ground and into his hands, punching him over and over until great spatters of blood soaked the tar.

“Go-d… damn it!” Whirl snapped, eye widened like a cornered dog, grabbing his gun that had been thrown from his hand and firing it into the older man’s shoulder. Cyclonus threw his head back in a scream, teeth barring. “I didn’t come here for a goddamn fight!” He barked, Palestinian Arabic rolling off his tongue in bitter snaps. “I came here to fucking get her out of the fucking area.”

Cyclonus’ look, pained and impatient as he dug the bullet out of his shoulder, was not a convinced one. Whirl explained that the chatty Harpy who ran the bar he hung out at and Rewonda were taken last night. People, Harpies, Banshees, and Empaths across the globe were disappearing.

“I thought that taxi driver Rewonda’s married to was going to actually throw his car when his friend the cop told him there wasn’t anything they could do. And whoever the chatty one likes is literally gathering a fucking hunting party to find her. The only reason I’m here is because I… cause I fucking owe the shaky one.”

“You owe her?” Cyclonus spat, voice flat.

“Eh, my medical boyfriend said that if she hadn’t righted me after you dropped me something with blood and brains and all that could have happened. Any way she also called me afterwards to see if I was okay. I think she was with Rewonda or some shit, but she’s a good one. Kid’s good…” He sighed, blowing the blood from his sore nose, rubbing his face clean. Rain picked up overhead. “I don’t know shit about this whole paranormal world and all. Frankly I don’t want any part of it. Prefer to keep my agendas in line. But the kid doesn’t deserve whatever the hell that thing was coming after her.”

Cyclonus couldn’t deny that. She didn’t deserve anything that she got in life. Not the hauntings, not the torment, and certainly not her life being cut so short just after she was learning how to live. And considering Whirl was actually taking a break from psychopathy she must have said something incredibly… well… Temperance.

Flicking the bullet off the roof Cyclonus stood, grunting as he felt the fresh muscle fibers adjust inside of him. The skin was pink against his ashy tan, jacket singed away by the impact. He grumbled impatiently as he let the rain wash away his own blood stains.

“So could you just pull the goddamn stick out of your ass for like five seconds to do something good?”

“You want to do something selfless?”

“Mm… not entirely. First Aid has locked me out of the apartment and refuses to let me touch him until I pay the ghost girl back,” Whirl shrugged. “I miss my boyfriend, Cyc. You of all people must understand that. You know man, with you and, uh… shit, what’s his name? Galva--,” Whirl began, another fist colliding with his sore face and throwing him from the roof.

His body cracked into the concrete of the building’s roof and moaned, body stiff and curling on its side as he felt nausea consume him. Then again, he thought, pain spreading like wings against his back, that wasn’t probably the best move. “Man,” he coughed as Cyclonus jumped down from the apartment’s roof. “I’m not fucking immortal. Think you broke some ribs. Ngh fuck.”

Peeking over the edge of the building was a headful of bright red hair and judging blue eyes. Two pale arms swept over the edge as First Aid stared at Whirl, pissed, but necessary. He was probably right. That wasn’t smart to throw a human off a roof. Even so the medic gave a thanking nod to the looming pilot as he knelt down beside Whirl.

“Did you just thank him?”

“Fully deserved,” he said again, pressing him into the roof as he went to work. “Your bones are only bruised. They’ll hurt like hell, but they aren’t broken.”

“Sometimes I swear you don’t—Gah! Damn it!—Don’t love me.”

“Eh,” the medic shrugged, face bitter even though his touch was gentle.

“Eh?! Don’t you eh me!”

“I’ll stop giving you the cold shoulder when you find that girl.”

“Why is it so fucking important to find her right now? I mean, we have a few days don’t we? So long as we find her in time she’s not gonna die!”

First Aid tensed when he felt a sweeping cold other than from the rain. Cyclonus only went to his apartment to brood in thought, trying to figure out where she could possibly be. With the rain soaking the earth, petrichor smearing away the bloodling’s scent, only faith and quick action could save her… and God did they need to move fast.

 

“Hey… Kid, wake up,” a familiar voice hissed, nudging Temperance from her slumped over state. The girl rolled her heavy head in the woman’s lap. Rewonda sighed thankfully and smiled that wide white smile down at the girl who was pale as the snowy dawn. “Oh thank god. Morning. Sleep well?”

“Rewonda?” She croaked, swallowing hard and coughing when she tasted the blood that had been sitting in her mouth.

“Oh, hey, she awake. Dude, finally. It’s so boring. No offense Rewind, but you’re kind of a sarcastic ass sometimes. Say, what’s your name?” A fast talking short one asked, his face brightening when he yanked against a chain that held him to a pole. His eyes that similar blue, but his hair was bright red with white roots: he’d nearly perfected hiding the hair.

“Shut up, Harpy,” Rewonda grumbled, using her bound hands to help her friend to sit on her haunches. “Sorry about him. Never shuts up, constant plague to those with working ears, and his only skill is metal working and bartending.”

“And jokes! Buddy says I’m great for a laugh. You wanna hear one?”

“Swerve, we’re in a goddamn warehouse that smells like a meat factory made out of rotting cows and you want to tell a joke?”

The man blinked quickly as if it wasn’t the most apropos time to make a humorous gesture. He shrugged and leaned as far as he could which was on his stomach. Whoever had bound them had tied his hands behind his back. They knew it was better than to let him see the metal he was locked up with.

“Yeah so? I like a laugh,” he beamed, wiggling closer to the girls. “What’s your name?”

“T-Temperance,” she coughed, rubbing her bloody palms on the ground out of their sight. She didn’t want them seeing.

“Wow, how cute. Who’s your brother, Prohibition?” The man erupted in a hardly laugh, his eyes tearing up even though no one else laughed. “Okay, not my best. But what’s your angle?”

“What?”

“He means what breed are you. Nosy little shit. This is why no one likes you at movie night half the time. You never shut the hell up,” Rewonda hissed, grabbing Temperance’s hand. “But that is a good question… I mean… Harpy… Banshee… I don’t think coma patients qualify as supernatural.”

“Supernatural?” She jumped, looking confused. “Sometimes I have vivid dreams and I can see shit, but that doesn’t qualify as supernatural.”

Swerve and Rewind took at each other and then both back to Temperance. They were entirely unconvinced. And so Rewonda went into the explanation of why they had nicknames that were far from human sounding. She explained why they all three were there in the most normal sounding words she could muster. Though it’s hard to explain that Swerve was part bird and got his name from being such a phenomenal getaway driver and that Rewonda was a banshee who stole, sold, and gathered information for the paranormal underground.

“Cyclonus got his name back way when for being one of the best fighter pilots in the history of the wars, Galvatron, the head honcho, had skin so think it was thought his under layer of dermis was made from metal.”

“And Chromedome?” Temperance asked.

“He’s bald,” Swerve laughed again. Rewonda kicked him and narrowed her eyes. “Joking, yeesh.”

“That’s not the issue,” Rewind—Rewonda?—said lowly. She grabbed her glasses and slid them off, her brilliantly blue eyes gleaming even in the low light. She handed them to Temperance and clicked the button on the side. “Can you see?”

“Is that… wait, is this…?”

“Footage from my apartment, Swerve’s bar and his apartment, Cyclonus’ place, Rung’s office, and CCTV from angles around those locations; I tapped into the network nearby. They’ve been planning this. Far too sophisticated for a rogue bloodling hooked on fresh blood and a pulse. Someone else is behind this.”

“Wait… why Rung’s office?”

“He’s a—“ Swerve began, Rewonda headbutting the loudmouth. She made a hissing gesture to silence him. “Ow! I don’t get it, why does Chromedome like you? You’re so mean sometimes!”

“It’s a special bond you would not understand because it requires a moment of silence that’s longer than the time it takes to take another breath in to speak again,” she smirked, turning back to the girl looking around the room, eyes watching as Cyclonus was sharpening a long sword with a gemstone hilt on the bed. It had been mounted above the door like an antique, but now it was gleaming in the low candle light. He looked menacing, betrayed even.

Temperance took the moment of silence to murmur the song she was taught beneath her breath, eyes stinging with tears. No, she had to be strong. She smiled through the tears that ran down her face, the heavy tongue hard to pronounce. And yet, when Cyclonus sang, it was a sound so sad and beautiful that it hurt her just like when her own voice weakly mimicked the swan song.

Rewonda and Swerve watched as the girl pulled her knees up to her chest, her hands resting on the ripped up jeans. They were blind to the feelings except Rewind. She could feel the shivering cold of Death looming over the girl as she watched Cyclonus through the camera. Temperance swallowed another mouthful of blood and shuddered, praying that he would hurry. It was a selfish wish, but one she wanted more than anything else.

Just as she said that Cyclonus stood off the bed, took the sword, and walked over to the door. He looked straight up into her eyes, his own glowing red. He grabbed the microcamera from the wall and stared into its lens with pure menace. He only said five words into the speaker, grip tightening around it almost to crush it like a fly.

“I will find you.”  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, trigger warnings still apply. Haha I throw gore and blood around too much for someone who doesn't like looking at/watching gore and blood *laughs like a witch* 
> 
> Ahem, anyhow, 
> 
> Introducing Skids, Getaway, Cyclonus/Galvatron microsmut, and Whirl and Cyclonus team ups! ENJOY
> 
> But seriously, this chapter is 100% NSFW/SMUT caution!!!

Over the course of the night the one called Swerve introduced himself as the owner of the dive bar down near the shore under some snazzy place full of snobbish college kids obsessed with soft core indie music, theatre—spelled ‘re’ not ‘er’—black turtle necks, and pipe tobacco. The only reason they got the place was because the place above them was hardly ever occupied because only truly great places are those somehow unpopular and unheard of. This small man gabbed on and on until finally he’d tired himself out and curled on his side in a nap.

Rewonda had stayed awake with her glasses recording, sending live footage to the outside world. She only prayed that for once Chromedome wasn’t listening to her rule about not touching her computer. Keeping her head turning to look on various things, the young woman leaned against Temperance for warmth. She was offering her friend some grief with her. By then Temperance was told what banshees do and could only hold back her tears, finally thankful that she was a little taller than the data collector, her head thrown back as she felt the burning hot tears streak down the side of her face as she stared up into a single sky light. That was a nice word for it. It was probably more of a missing roof sheet with a cloudy moonlight peering in from overhead. The rain had long stopped, but that had only made the air thicker, the stench on it heavier.

Thanks to the new hiked levels of humidity that bad blood scent was more of a miasma. It was nauseating, but the pallor girl was used to it. She simply closed her eyes and meditated on the pain that was itching at the back of her mind, medication slowly sweating out from her nerves. She did her best to calm down, forcefully breathing, but she was too scared.

To throw her mind off it she remembered how she’d reacted after her initial scream. She had completely panicked and grabbed one of the garden tools leaned up against the wall of the apartment and beaten the creature over the head with it. Turns out she’d grabbed a shovel and thrown it to the ground. Unfortunately it hadn’t come alone. She was clubbed over the head by something else as hard and heavy as the shovel she’d attacked another with. Her body fell almost endlessly into the dark, combined with medication and the blunt trauma, she was easy to abduct.

Seeing just how jittery she’d become Rewonda gripped Temperance’s hand and smiled, whispering up to her. “Hey. Remember movie night? The one I took you to after we got you dressed to those New York Nines? You remember how I laughed so hard I snorted my beer?” Thankfully the woman wasn’t too far gone in her fear. She laughed when Rewonda retold the tale of one of the happiest memories she could recall. They talked quietly together for some time, warmth growing between them until the methodical clicking of heeled footsteps filled the air. Both the young women froze, eyes wide and sharp as a figure so tall approached them that both of them craned their necks. Who one earth could ever be so tall?

“Comfortable?” A voice asked from above, its hum low and throaty. Regal, even. A publicity figure’s sort of voice. “I would hope so.  They do say the lamb who sees the knife’s meat spoils, thus the kill nulled.”

“Tyrest,” Rewonda glowered, leaning up and standing abruptly, jerked back to her knees by the shortness of her chain. “Lobbyist and cocksucker for legislature’s right winged shit, all in the name of the biggest bullshit in human rights abducts people and locks them in warehouses that smell like the dead and dying. Wouldn’t that just be so quaint,” the woman growled, slinking back on her haunches. She wanted to be as far from this man as humanly possible.

“Rewonda ‘Rewind’ Jackson: theft, arson, extortion, bribery: is there no depth to which you will not dive? Sydney ‘Swerve’ Logan: illegal possession of banned alcohols, abetting in providing escape vehicles for various crimes, and loitering. And Temperance, the waif child, ward of the state, who fell into a protective coma after being terrorized by rogue bloodlings. You have never actually committed any legally defined crime, but you have smeared your good name by association with the filth around you,” Tyrest read off their crimes sternly.

“So what, you’re going to kick us into the due process of the law? Burry us in paperwork and jail time until we die?” Swerve asked, having shot up from his “nap”.

Tyrest turned his deep glowing eyes on the smaller man whose white roots were defiantly consuming the rest of his hair. It was just impossible to hide it, wasn’t it?

“Oh no, Sydney. There is a far darker pit of hell waiting for you.”

 

When Cyclonus returned to Galvatron’s office it was a much less graceful entrance. The pilot kicked open the door and walked on top of the wreckage with a violent look in his eyes. However, this time Galvatron was prepared. He raised his legendary armored skin up to blood the attack coming from a sheathed sword. He grunted when the concealed weapon cracked against his arm.

“Back for more, I see. Angry I got you riled up and then let you free?”

This was not received well. Galvatron was nearly beheaded when Cyclonus unsheathed the sword, its black blade swinging expertly in the air. The larger man lumbered back and grabbed a pistol that looked more like a gun stuffed with radioactive goo by its size. The barrel was big enough to hold a flip phone, and the bullets inside were sure to do some real damage. “Not so feisty when I’ve got a gun that could shortstop your life in your face, huh? I miss this kinda control over you.”

The pilot’s teeth were showing, ends of his canines furiously sharp. His eyes glowed red in the dark as he crouched against the floor his his sword raised. He was in no mood and he needed Galvatron to comply. Although his best attempt to stay calm was still not enough.

The lord of that particular paranormal faction smirked as he lowered the gun. There was no point in blowing the head off the only person Galvatron had a particular inclination to use the word ‘love’ when talking about. He sat the gun on his massive wooden desk and walked over to the fuming man. He squatted down to his own threatened position, tilting Cyclonus’ head up to his.

“I see the rain washed away your scent,” he whispered, Cyclonus resisting that dark, commanding tone in Galvatron’s voice. “And so since your usual information network is tied up somewhere… you need me. And yet you come in her blazing guns and glory like you’re going to intimidate me.”

Cyclonus felt the nails dig into his jaw as his growl was forced to subside. His eyes dulled as he stared into the controlling, dark madness of Galvatron’s sneer. He knew he was in control and knew exactly the price of his information. The pilot could feel a hollow pit in his stomach growing as he closed his eyes, furious rage fading with mediation. He couldn’t rip Galvatron’s throat out, no matter how much he would have liked to. Too many people would be after him, many of them less understanding.

“You’re best down there,” Galvatron whispered, chuckling. Pulling Cyclonus to his feet by his face, Galvatron led them over to the edge of the desk. The large lord of chaos sat on the edge and pushed Cyclonus back down the floor on his knees, all with a knowing look. “You remember before the war when you’d pull the bomb alarms on the base… they’d hide in the bunkers for an hour and we’d be up in the watch towers… Just you… and me…”

Cyclonus felt the air between them crackle with heat. So this was how he was going to get the information… how very Galvatron. The man, knowing only what he had to do, said nothing as he slid his fingers expertly over the larger man’s pants. His red eyes stared straight into Galvatron’s as he popped the button on his black jeans, pulling the zipper down slowly.

Closing his eyes Galvatron stared straight ahead, smirk so wide and so satisfied that it made Cyclonus want to punch him. But that would be counterproductive. Instead the pilot slowly, expertly slid his fingers beneath the waistband of Galvatron’s briefs, giving a teasing bite at his hip as he slid the fabric down at a glacial pace. If Cyclonus had his way the warlord would have gotten off and he would be on his way to find Temperance. But this wasn’t something he could rush. He remembered those times he had tried that. It didn’t end well for him.

The larger of the two gave a hiss of satisfaction, biting his lip in a pleased chortle. He was half hard just thinking that he could finally get Cyclonus on his knees again, but he knew it wouldn’t be much work to get him all the way up. The pilot knew more than a few tricks to do what was necessary.

Cyclonus took the half-hard shaft into his hands and ran his tongue from the base to the head, stopping to gently suck. He relished in the hiss of pleasure that escaped the man above him, taking his head into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it slowly. Daringly the pilot slid his other hand into Galvatron’s briefs and slowly, softly played with his balls. Immediately the reaction was clear, Cyclonus feeling the length swell in his mouth as he slid it deep into his throat. He did his best to relax his mouth, but sometimes size was just impeding.

Galvatron instantly grabbed a fistful of the younger one’s purple hair and pulled him down. Cyclonus did his best to keep his pace, but the sudden jab to the back of his throat caused a soft gag. Nevertheless, the man continued. He sucked and licked around the huge shaft swelling in his mouth, using one hand to pump when he pulled back. A free hand defiantly dug its nails into Galvatron’s leg. The man let out a grunt and a snicker as he pushed Cyclonus’ head back down again.

“You still hate it even though you’re so good… Ngh! Haha… You know you’ve missed this.”

If Cyclonus had his mouth free he would have told Galvatron that he’d rather bite it off than suck it, but once more the urges were silenced by circumstances. He simply began sucking and swallowing harder and faster to finish him off. The faster he made Galvatron cum the more time he would have to search for Temperance.

Finally, Galvatron grunting and panting with each suck, Cyclonus felt the man come right to the edge. The pilot took Galvatron in right to the hilt as he felt his hips buck into the sensation, a tremor of pleasure washing over the man as Cyclonus’ throat was filled. Still riding off the orgasm, Galvatron looked down to the man pleasing posed on his knees and hissed, “Swallow.”

Against better judgment the pilot did just that. He shuddered as the bitter fluids ran down his throat. He slowly slid his mouth away, licking his lips, sharp teeth gleaming in the lowlight as he fell back on his haunches. He wiped his mouth, noting that he would throw back a shot of something—mouthwash, scotch, hell, even watered down toothpaste—the minute he left.

After a moment of mental recovery the pilot stood while Galvatron pulled himself back into his pants and zipped them up. They both stared at each other, one with satisfaction and the other with contempt. However, a deal was a deal, even if Cyclonus had owed the larger one that blow job for a couple of decades.

“The bloodlings are being led by the corrupt politician Tyrest. You know, the one whose age rivals ours? Well, the underground was supposed to take him out before he got too dangerous, but then again when does the underground get anything done with human figureheads?” Galvatron sighed, lighting a cigar and crossing his legs at the ankles as he leaned back against his desk. “The thing is… he’s been hunting down people like your pet project for a while now. They keep them on the edge and close to the underground so that when they’re of age they’ll be too weak to fight back.”

“What about Rewonda?” Cyclonus asked, sucking his teeth clean.

“She was taken during one of the cab driver’s PTSD episodes. You know how fucking with people’s heads fucks up your own. Well while he was seizing on the bed they beat the girl over the back of her head and dragged her out. Tough luck for the bartender: he’s just a bad shot and his partner was working with the underground that night. Temperance, however… they knew she was a diamond in the rough. She was kept weak in fear until one of the rogues got impatient. She would have been killed much earlier had she not been admitted to the hospital where the shrink works. He’s wrapped that building in mistletoe, silver accents, and various other wards. She’s made it this far thanks to a handful of accidents, really.”

“And you know all of this because?”

“Who do you think Rewonda got the files from?” Galvatron sneered, tapping some ash into a crystal bowl on his desk. “If you’d like your Palestinian partner to get his ear off the door, I’d be more than happy to give you a general vicinity in which to look.”

In the background the sound of someone’s shoulder being slapped and a glass dropping and breaking followed by a swear and an apology was heard. Galvatron, satisfied that the two waiting outside had left, he pulled a hand-scrawled map on a bar napkin from the nightclub throbbing through the floor below them.

“I don’t have an address but it’s somewhere on the docks out by the marine shipping containers. I’ve been told it’s a blue one… then again, over half of them are blue. Another source said it’s a warehouse that fishermen use… but I can’t be sure.”

Cyclonus, fury flowing throw him, grabbed Galvatron by the collar and snarled. “Look, I really don’t know! But if you want to waste your damn time taking it out on me rather than looking for her, fine!”

A moment of rage buzzed between them when Cyclonus finally conceded, throwing Galvatron back against the desk. On the way out the pilot picked up his sword, slid it back into the sheath, and pocketed the map. There was so much space they all needed to search and there was no real telling the number of bloodlings that were guarding wherever they were. The only thing he knew was that they had to work fast.

Outside Whirl and a now equipped First Aid stood, the medic pressing his back flat against the wall. He knew to get out of Cyclonus’ way when he was on a war path. They quickly turned around and followed him out the back door and down onto the sticky, damp alley way. Before they went back to the van where the underground’s eyes were waiting Cyclonus turned and grabbed Whirl.

“Aw man, what now?” He groaned, face bandaged like a mummy.

“Give it.”

“Give what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he threw his hands up, eyes not telling the whole truth.

Not breaking that eye contact Cyclonus reached in Whirl’s inside pocket and pulled out a flask. First Aid shoved Whirl angrily, but the more interesting sight was watching Cyclonus guzzle the cheap alcohol. He shoved the now empty metal flask.

“Tell Skids and the others that they’re close to the water in a shipping container or large abandoned warehouse that would be owned or connected to Tyrest. And then tell him that if I find him first that they’re only going to find pieces.”

Whirl and First Aid watched as the man scaled wall easily and disappeared over the top. Both of them looked down at the napkin the pilot had shoved into Whirl’s hand. It wasn’t even in English. The characters were strange and looked like all the buttons you didn’t use on a calculator.

“Skids, you’re smart, right?” First Aid asked the super-learned. The charismatic smile that pulled over his angular jaw and handsome face was almost mocking.

“Smart, sure,” he chuckled, taking the map. “Oh, that’s easy. Russian. Says it’s the pier that’s…” Skids trailed off, eyes narrowing at a scribbled phrase. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit? Don’t mean to sound like ‘that token brown guy’ but doesn’t oh shit usually mean something bad?” Whirl asked, cocking a sharp brow.

Skids handed the napkin to a man sitting in the front seat with a golden metal face mask over his own, eyeing over the napkin. He nudged his budding sitting in the passenger side who read it aloud in Russian and then turned back to Skids with a nod. The young theoretician rubbed the bridge of his nose as he typed in a text that would spread to every underground phone in a hundred mile radius.

“What’s the deal? Why is this so bad?” First Aid asked, Whirl haven given up on asking and focused on loading the guns strapped to his hips, ankles, and inside pockets. So what, he liked to be prepared?

Skids, after confirming with someone who went by the name Getaway, turned to the medic with a grave expression, his own hands loading a pistol.

“They’re near a pier set to be sunk. It’s holding several boats that are being retired and created into man-made reefs. The way things are being set up is that you can hook the boats to a much larger vessel and ship them out to a location with a depleted oceanic ecosystem where they can sink the ships that have been prepped to grow reefs and invite ecological restructure.”

“And… that means what?” Whirl asked, snapping the clip of bullets into the gun.

“They can be rigged to be dropped in a body of water. If Tyrest knows we’re coming he could drown us out at any time. Hell, they could already be dead,” Skids explained, foot tapping against the floor of the van.

“Don’t sweat it, mate,” Getaway smirked, Kiwi accent sharp through his metal mask. “Looks like your smart little banshee knows her way around a broadcasting network.”

Sure enough on the screen Rewonda’s feed was playing live to every underground screen she could reach. The radius was set to fifty miles and she was constantly feeding information and life talking, letting them know it wasn’t a loop from Tyrest. Skids and First Aid were squeezed together, sharing a pair of earbuds as they both frantically listened in.

“If anyone can hear this the name’s Rewonda, code name Rewind. We’re being held in what smells like fish rot hell. We being Temperance, designation suspected empath keeping the company of the absent Cyclonus, associate of mine. Swerve, designation Harpy and owner of Nuts and Bolts dive bar keeping the company of underground analyst and theoretician named Skids. If anyone out there can hear us we’re still alive and kicking although I can’t guarantee that much longer… Domey if you hear this… stop fucking with people’s heads. It’ll kill you. I know it sounds morbid but there’s a slug in my office with your name burned in the side. I’ve kept it just in case. Skids, if we are still alive by the time you sluggish search dogs find us I cannot guarantee Swerve’s safety. He hasn’t shut up since we got here unless he’s tired himself out. Cyclonus, I know… She’s fine for now, but when they find out she won’t get to wait until the full moon. And lastly, my dear listeners, hurry the fuck up. It smells awful in here, it’s cold as hell with westward winds and the smell of salt, fish production, and lots and lots of blood. Code Black, I repeat, Code black.”

Once Getaway had gotten his earful the van rumbled to a start. First Aid leaned out of the door only to see a motorcycle rumbling to life. It roared in the street, Whirl smirking as he revved the monstrous sounding engine. The bike flew down the street ahead as First Aid was given a seat in the van near the back. There was too much time to just idle. There were three lives at stake and for once they knew exactly where they were.

 

Temperance had passed out after coughing up a handful of blood onto the floor. Rewonda stroked the young woman’s hair as she laid down on her lap, soothing her with a gentle song. There wasn’t much time left. A day, maybe two max. That chilling cold of a reaper’s presence hung in the air just as heavily as the stench. It stood just out of the corner of her eye, checking its watch and sighing, but never there when you looked right where it clearly should have been. It frustrated the archivist. She frowned hard as she held Temperance’s hand tightly.

“If you’re so damn impatient then why not spare her suffering?” Rewonda hissed, the burning cold against her skin itching just out of her reach.

Then, scampering from the corner like a starved dog, the familiar dragging of limbs and sniffing was heard. Rewonda’s eyes were sharp against the dark as she watched the blackest shadow lurch back and forth like it knew not to approach but couldn’t help the need. Finally it sprinted forward a few feet, stopping, pacing back and forth, and repeating this until the bloodling could be seen from the edge of the moonlight illuminating the three.

The creature looked human only in appearance, the rest of its body language and noises primal. The archivist watched as it snapped its jaws angrily, all teeth sharpened to needle points. She recalled what happened to vampires when their hunts became a chance to feel life leaving a body rather than feeding the hunger. When it became a drug rather than a need part of their brain had shrunk. Without that life it induced hallucinations, radical behavior, animal like actions, and loss of conscience. Rewonda smirked when she saw it circling the light, nails sharpened points and eyes deep into its skull.

“You sold your humanity for a taste of life,” she snickered, her own sharpened fangs revealing. Sometimes when banshees sensed death near it was not planned but that they would die by her own hand. Thus the defensive details that mimicked a shark’s mouth. “And now you’re praying to suck the life out of one last being before your god permits your soul’s entrance into a fantasy.”

Not understanding the creature only snarled and roared a bark. Rewonda could see how it had been rotting from the inside out for a long time. Blood and pus dripped from its mouth as it hung slack. She could never imagine the taste of life on her tongue, but whatever its flavor it clearly was something beyond comprehension to drive someone to madness.

“It’s not a fantasy even in the slightest. But what would a sinner know of faith?” Tyrest’s voice sighed in a bored tone. He approached from the thick darkness and kicked the bloodling aside.

“So when do you break the news that you don’t have enough ‘angels’ blood to go around for the rogues?” She snickered, retracting those dangerous teeth.

“They know there is not enough.”

“Oh do they?” She asked, tilting her head curiously. “Cause,” she stuck her lips out in mocking observation. “They don’t seem to hear very well. Some point past when they hear a reaper’s scythe dragging on the ground behind them they panic. That’s what really drives them to the animosity: fear. The only reason they haven’t exsanguinated us yet is because you have a power hold on them. They fear you more than damnation. A sizeable feat, I must admit.”

Tyrest brushed aside some bangs revealing a gold fissure in his skin. It ran in streaks up his scalp and around his head like a sick, burned in crown. He smiled to himself almost as if everything was crystal to his eyes. There was no muddy explanation needed, it was all very, very clear.

“An underground rogue did this to me when I refused to do an under the table favor for him. Took melted gold and poured it over my head. A crown for a king, he said. I was lucky to survive, but after I lived I met a priest in the hospital. He told me four words before he left. God saves the worthy. And ever since I knew that my sins, my creations and wrongdoings would be absolved if I could just find the key. Then I heard some lore about angels’ blood… and it all… just fell together…” He smirked, a mad twinkle in his eyes.

“You’re not a rogue… so what good is it to you?” Rewonda narrowed her eyes, actually uninformed for the first time in her life.

The man simply smiled and said, “Angels’ blood absolves all sins in any heart. If I have lost my mind to blood yet has no importance.”

The young woman said nothing as she sat there, squeezing Temperance and Swerve’s hand tighter. She meditated and kept the reaper’s watch off of them, fixing her senses on Tyrest. Mark the fool, she hoped. Maybe the innocent will finally be spared.

 

Cyclonus was standing on top of a radio tower and looking down over the pier. There must have been over a thousand shipping crates stated against each other and none of them showed signs of life or movement. Bloodling rogues weren’t smart enough to navigate that maze, he thought to himself as he looked over the warehouse block. Now that was simpler. There were six warehouses and one next to several prepped vessels. Something about them caught his eye, the vampire leaping down from the tower to a small leveled base. He cursed as his hands stung from bracing himself, but he could still use them. Down below was a rumbling motorcycle and a nodding Whirl who’d confirmed his suspicions.

The vampire got onto the ground and begrudgingly got onto the back of Whirl’s motorcycle after some coercion. “Come on, grumpy,” Whirl smirked, jabbing a thumb to the back of his bike. “We’ve got a damsel to de-distress.”

“That’s not a word,” Cyclonus growled as he got on the back of the bike.

“No, but it’s catchy.”

“No it’s not.”

“You know what, shut the fuck up.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It's The End Of The World As We Know It plays in the background*

Tremors had started to consume the pale young woman in Rewonda’s lap. Her skin was clammy and had a sickly grey to it. She mumbled in her sleep, breathing unevenly as she seemed to fight something deep within her. The medicine had worn off and now insurmountable agony was filling her slowly, her legs numb while the rest of her shut down one piece at a time. Swerve could see this when he finally woke up once more, actually silenced as he saw the girl’s suffering. He looked silently, worried beyond belief at Rewonda who only nodded. She was dying.

The both of them held onto Temperance as she sweated out the drugs she had barely gotten the chance to acclimate to. It was a process that would take several days, but neither of the two were sure she’d even make it that long or even if they’d be alive to see that day. It was test only time could tell.

Thankfully Tyrest had swept the maddened bloodlings away from the area so the smell on the air had faded with time. But even Banshees and Harpies needed sleep. Rewonda fought hard against her heavy eyelids as she stared into the dark, sure something lingered there. Reapers, bloodlings, or even corrupt politicians like the shadier parts of everything. Strange, and only two of them were actually paranormal.

 

Cyclonus was more than happy to get off of Whirl’s bike, head spinning from how fast the young man drove and just how risky a driver was. He stumbled on his feet for a few seconds before regaining his balance and staring up at the massive break-away trailer filled with old ships and crates. Even Whirl gave a daunted whistle, not quite sure if there was enough of them to search through it all.

“Well… we have time. The full moon’s not for a couple’a days, right?” Whirl shrugged, Cyclonus simply swinging his sword from off his back into his hand.

“The magic of this moon is over the whole week… we could already be too late,” he said solemnly, striding over to the ground of underground connections who were dividing into groups.

Skids nodded at the pilot respectfully, tossing him an earpiece. He said to keep it on before the vampire stopped dead and backed up suddenly. Everyone watched as he shuddered and grabbed his sword by the hilt. “Cyclonus?” Skids asked cautiously.

“Sonar… pulses from each corner of the dock to throw off senses… and something…” Cyclonus’ voice faded as he tried focusing the sound. Metal against… a whet stone? Oh no…

Before Skids and his team could confirm what he heard Cyclonus bolted forward. Perhaps his named was called or maybe it was the sharp salty ocean winds breezing by as he sprinted down the huge concrete path. Orange overhead lights cast a city-night glow over the trailers, the man squinting through them to see the color blue. Unfortunately everything looked a muddy brown, orange, or red. Or was it that none of the storage carriers were really blue?

Ears ringing with the sonar pulses and eyes strained against the light, Cyclonus let out a furious, frustrated roar. The sound echoed far and fast over the water, the underground team turning to the noise, earpieces throbbing in their heads. However, another head turned farther away but still aware.

 

“Temperance,” Rewonda whispered, shaking the girl from her sweaty slumber. “Christ, Temperance if there’s ever a time to wake up it’s now.”

“What was that?” Swerve asked, face mixing confusion, fear, and intrigue all in the same go.

“The late ass cavalry,” she said with her sharp confidence restored.

Temperance opened her eyes against her better judgment. They felt raw and burned as she tried adjusting her vision to the near opaque darkness. Above them was that single torn piece of metal and the moon light glaring above. The sky was lightening like dawn was near, but that was impossible. It hadn’t been nearly that long. No… it was just deck lights… wait… lights?

Distant as they were there were voices that didn’t follow up with beasty barks and drawls. They were human. Or at least normal voices. Who even knew who was really human any more. Rewonda was actually speechless with joy for one, even Swerve dead silent. He was still trying to discern if those voices were still ones they wanted to hear. But who cared. It was hope. Wasn’t hope just enough?

Unfortunately, voice chuckling like a bucket of ice water thrown over the three of them, Tyrest was striding up from the shadows with the most satisfied expression. It could curdle the blood if you were exposed to that Joker grin far too long. He had what looked like a ceremonial dagger in his hand and a crystal bowl.

“If you tell me anything other than that bowl is for thirty cans of fancy feast and your pet tiger than I’m going to be sorely disappointed,” Rewonda said laughingly, even though she was terrified. Her own shark-layered teeth were exposed in defense. Swerve too had shown his talons in apprehension. To her dismay Temperance’s only defense was vomiting blood and being overly optimistic. Unfortunately that wasn’t useful in a situation where we was threatened with being bled like lambs at the slaughter.

Tyrest took the tip of the dagger and tilted Rewonda’s head up to that ghostly pale light above, reveling as a single bead of dark blood spread from beneath the knife’s point and ran down her throat. He chuckled, wicking the blade away and running the edge of it across his tongue. He savored the sweet taste, iron replaced by an almost milky, indulgent saccharinity. Was that was drove the bloodlings wild? Or was it the sensation of the body stiffening beneath their fangs and gasps for life as the person beneath them died more the addiction? Who knew… Tyrest only needed the blood.

“Tyrest do you know romantic etiquette? We’ve at least had to sleep together a couple of times before you can get freaky,” Rewonda smirked, defiant even when she faced certain death.

“I don’t think you’ll be so cocky when you see all the mouths I’ve had to keep from the meat.”

The politician snapped a finger and bright, shrieking floodlights that hung from the ceiling filled the room. After the initial gasps and shielding of the eyes Temperance was the first to lose her scream to fear. The warehouse was flooded with bloodlings, their faces covered by metal masks all but to their mouths. Some snapped their jaws mindlessly, others lost to their own starvation, some silenced as they descended into the state of the others. It wasn’t a fishy smell that Rewonda had first thought she’d smelled: it was death itself. Tyrest only laughed, eyes sparkling once more with that devious madness.

“You think just because that sad cluster of a task force is close by you’re out of the woods? Stupid throwaway. You’re already dead.”

 

Thankfully when Tyrest had flipped the lights everyone could see it. At the far edge of the dock was a blue fishing vessel that was either channeling its inner Christmas tree or flooding the area with a beacon of activity. Cyclonus and Whirl looked at each other affirming what both thought, the task force and all the others running ahead.

Once faced with the ship they saw just what they were dealing with: a ship overflowing with rogues. Even Skids and Getaway, men tasked with handling the impossible, looked a bit daunted. Skids, raking a hand through his blue hair with a sigh, simply threw his blade knuckle covers down over his gloved hands and threw his head from side to side and shrugged.

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You tellin’ yourself that to make this look better?” Getaway cocked a brow.

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

“Eh, the fact that you could piss ya’self right now. Bomp,” the faceless man smirked, bopping his friend under the chin.

Finally deciding just to go for it Skids waved his team over to a ladder built into the hull of the ship while Getaway’s team divided half into a standby and the other half with another task force. They went for the opposite end with a second ladder. Cyclonus, however, could smell a mix of blood, festering disease, and flowers. Always those sweet, soft flowers.

Whirl looked to the pilot and nodded. Not being able to leap great heights or sprint faster than a little above average he went for the ladder-and-run-in-screaming approach. Cyclonus, however, dug sharp nails into the side of the hull as he climbed, hands finally gripping tight on the edge of the boat and hoisting himself over. He saw that it was eerily quiet save for the underground forces and Whirl swinging around a short sword and gun looking for a fight. “Something’s not right,” he whispered, testing the ground.

Almost like a tidal wave had washed over the ship the sound of hundreds of heads suddenly looking up filled the air. Skids only had the time to say ‘oh shit’ before torrents of bloodlings crawled out from the windows and erupted from splintered wood of the floor. They clawed, bit, snapped, roared, and attacked blindly as ordered, Skids and Getaway back to back as one cracked open skulls with bladed knuckles and the other fired off the tops of skulls. Whirl, laughing amidst the constant rain of chaos, filled the rogues with lead and sliced them open left and right, running over their corpses like a kid in a psychotic candy store. Cyclonus, handling his own battles, laid the waves of the rogues flat with the sword, pulling two off his back that tried to overcome him with a snarl.

It seemed like an impossible battle, blood and bodies falling in absolute walls and yet three more rows behind them. Even Whirl was breaking a sweat as he dropped a pistol and pulled out another one from his waist. Gunfire had nearly deafened everyone who could still hear over the screams of the rogues. Finally a small break in the chaos, just a flicker, showed a path to a part of the wood that had been ripped away completely in a cut out square. An entrance?

Then, confirming the suspicions of a door a voice louder and more terrified than anything anyone had ever heard filled the air. It shook the ship and even those men on the ground, covering their ears as the headpieces screamed with static.

“CYCLONUS!” It shrieked, the man bolting forward and sliding into the hole, narrowly avoiding a beheading from one of the rogue’s claws.

The fall down was much more of a daredevil feat than a jump. It was the cut away part of the deck above, some metal to support the floors, and then a freefall into a darkness he couldn’t see through with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Thinking fast the pilot dug his nails into the metal of the ceiling supports, grunting loudly as he felt his arm strain against its socket. That was a risky and stupid move. If he was mortal or old as his actual age he would have died from the fall.

Down below him Temperance was staring up at him with a mix of relief and fear on her face. Tyrest turned back and waggled the knife in his hand grabbing the young woman by her hair. She shrieked in pain body shaking. She felt that tingling sensation at the back of her throat as she was held over the crystal bowl with her neck threatened by a nearing blade.

Body panicking, Temperance purged her stomach of acids and blood. Cyclonus stared, horror and suspense filling him. Taking advantage of the politician’s shock, he jumped into a pile of shipping crates and pallets. It didn’t feel much better than meeting the floor via gravity, but it was at least a little closer and would provide somewhat more cushion when he fell, albeit a splintery cushion.

Tyrest’s eyes bulged as he looked down at the girl. Her cheeks were streaked with tears even if her face was full of disdain. She spat a mouthful of burning acid to the ground in resistance. The man screamed, seeing the young woman’s diseased look.

“Tainted… your blood is rotten,” he spat, kicking her in the face.

The crystal bowl was caught in the kick and half of it turned into triangular shards, splinters of the material scattering in the light like glitter. Temperance groaned as she spat blood, pulling against her bounds. It was then that Swerve looked over with wide eyes. He could see the metal and instantly figured it out.

“Pull!” Swerve snapped, yanking with full force on his binds. The metal snapped like cheap plastic. It was scrap they’d found in the ship yards.

The stocky harpy lunged for a piece of glass and daringly bolted towards Tyrest, ramming it deep into the man’s throat. Swerve took several steps back as his hand ran with ribbons of blood. The politician, however, was less fortunate. His hands reached up to touch his injury, hovering just above the glass in shock, His eyes were wide as blood came from his mouth in gasps.

But something was wrong. He reached for something in his pocket and held it up. He pressed the button, dropped it, and grinned. It was a detonator wired from a car clicker. Rewonda kicked off the back of a support beam that they’d been tethered to and snapped the metal of her cuffs, wringing her wrists and Cyclonus bolted over and slid to his knees. He took Temperance’s face into his hands, seeing the rising bruise on her face, and frowned harder than anyone thought possible. He stood to his full, looming height almost like a liquid and walked over to Tyrest. The man smiled even as blood ran down his chin around the glass shard that still kept him standing.

Without saying one word, eyes dark, Cyclonus grabbed the man’s jaw and pulled it off with a scream of horror and a sickening rip-and-snap sound. The man seized violently as Cyclonus dropped the jaw in disgust. He flicked his wrist to get some of the blood off, ignoring the massive pool gathering beneath the now dead man. He was disgusting.

“Dude, you should have totally said ‘You’ve just been vetoed’ or something cool like that,” Swerve said, mimicking Cyclonus’ voice. “Or… or not.” The glower he was getting from the pilot was really deterring to someone’s sense of humor.

“Cyclonus have you found them?” Skid’s voice echoed in his ear.

“They’re here.”

“Good because whatever the hell Tyrest just did you guys need to fucking bolt.”

“What?”

Without warning the entire ship rocked in an explosion. Swerve instinctively forced the feathers from his arms and began flapping in panic. Rewonda grabbed a hold of his waist and hitched a ride on the harpy who was quickly making his way to the deck. Down below Cyclonus was reorienting himself and snapping the cheap handcuffs around Temperance’s wrists. She was shaken awake by the explosion and floods of water filling the hull of the ship. She looked dizzily up at Cyclonus and smiled wide even through the pain of her swollen cheek and bloody nose.

“Hey,” she laughed, her voice hoarse. “If this is heaven then I don’t mind dying so much.”

“Save the small talk,” Cyclonus said as he lifted her into his arms. She felt cold and heavy, almost like deadweight. It was getting closer and closer by the hour.

The ship now on tilted Cyclonus could slide against the floor to the other side of the hull. Seeing that the foundations of the dock beneath them were crumbling he did what he could. He set the girl down and unsheathed his sword. He stabbed it through the thick metal, praying he had the strength to do what was necessary. He grunted with all his strength, screaming in a show of power as he forced the blade through the metal. Another cut, more screams and frantic actions, and finally the weak metal cut a hole open. Unfortunately it was facing water just at six feet below. Seeing that there was no way to crawl back up against the tilting ship there was only one way to go: down.

Outside Skids and Getaway’s team were booking it as the end of the dock was breaking off, sliding fast with the screech and moan of crumbling metal into the water. Whirl had dove off the top deck into the water and clambered to shore where First Aid, yet again, was smacking him on the head while treating his injuries along with several others. Galvatron had met up with them, eyes wide as he watched the ship begin to drop into the water. He turned to Skids and grabbed him by the lapels, jerking him close.   

“Where is he?” The man roared, fangs barred and eyes gleaming.

“I-in the ship! He’s still trying to get the girl out.” The young man panicked, throwing his hands up as the massive war lord towered over him. Skids was thrown back angrily as the man climbed atop the crashing vessel, finding the opening where down below Cyclonus was trying to cut out of the hull of the massive ship.

“You fool,” he thought to himself as he dropped down, flicking his wrists and shaking a leg as he regretted breaking his fall that way. “You’re going to drown!” The man snapped as Cyclonus picked up the fading girl in his arms.

“The only way out is down!” Cyclonus snapped back, bracing himself over the exit he’d made. Just before Cyclonus could throw a witty retort the massive ship slid against the water. Galvatron was thrown against the hull-wall-now-floor as he watched his old friend slide into the salty water. He cried out for him, but he’d already made the plunge.

The water was cold as the grave, a casket of bubble exploding around the pilot as his charge. They sunk to an impossible depth until the man’s feet bounced against a slippery, muddy sediment floor. He kicked towards the surface, lungs already squeezed by being caught off guard. He fought for air, clawing upward with one hand and a girl in another arm.

Just as he was about to rupture the surface of the water in a frantic gasp a hand pulled him backwards. He turned his head and saw a bloodling, its teeth sharp and jaws snapping wildly at him as it yanked the pilot down faster and faster.

Turning back Cyclonus saw Galvatron was ripping the rogue off his ankles and snapping its head clear off its neck with a twist and grunt. He shot a look up to him and gave him a nod as the blood gushed from the corpse in red, twisting curls of watery smoke. Now it was just the race to the surface. Cyclonus kicked with both legs as hard as he could, clawing for the air.

Skids jumped back when a clawed hand broke the surface of the black water with a gasp. The nails dug into the concrete edge of what was left of the dock, limb shaking as he choked out a, “Take her.” Quickly with First Aid’s help the girl was hoisted onto the dock as the pilot gasped for air, pulling his own soaked body form the bay. He shuddered as he felt the water, warm to him, roll off his angular face. He swallowed gulps of that sweet air and turned his bleary gaze to the girl who was lying still against the stone.

One, two, three, breath, and First Aid repeated trying to start the young woman’s heart again. His eyes were wide and skin pale as he pushed his weight against her sternum, tilting her head back, forcing air down her throat, hoping she would open her eyes and breathe. For a long time the background noise of the sinking ship and Galvatron throwing himself back against the dock was white noise. Skids stood over the girl with a grave expression, Getaway’s hand on his shoulder. Even the backup looked uncertain.

“Breathe, damn it!” First Aid snapped, pumping on her heart a final time when the girl’s wide crystal eyes flew open. Her body rolled like a wave washed through her, shoulders turning as mouthfuls of water and blood was coughed up. First Aid was relieved, falling back on his haunches as the girl gasped her own fitful breaths of life.

Once she’d opened her eyes again Temperance reached out for Cyclonus with an exhausted look of relief. She smiled as pained tears bubbled over her eyes. She smiled even through the pain of her bruised cheek and blood nose. She smiled because she knew, somehow deep down, that it was all the pilot needed to know she was okay. But nothing lasts forever.

The second she’s assured him of her safety her eyes fluttered closed, the pain without her medicine throwing her into a blackout. First Aid threw open his cell phone and called an ambulance, information flying from his mouth faster than anyone had ever seen. Medical protocol and locations were given and soon, within fifteen minutes, the wail of an emergency vehicle screamed through the lightening sky.

It was a flurry of straps, IVs, call-ins, gurneys, and codes when Temperance was lifted onto the stretcher. The woman was wheeled away with a sickly look on her face, Cyclonus frozen in place. He’d saved her, hadn’t he? This couldn’t be happening so fast.

Galvatron, seeing a rare flicker of fear over the stoic man’s face, placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He ground his teeth as he let his nails sharpen and dig into his palms. Blood ran like ribbons between his knuckles as he stood, angry at himself for feeling such grief. He raised his hand to rake his nails across his face again, the larger man grabbing his wrist tightly.

“She wouldn’t want that,” he whispered, face serious for the first time in a very long time.

“She’s dying,” Cyclonus said, voice low and angry. “She wanted me to protect her from this and she’s dying…”

Neither of them would say it, but both were thinking it. Galvatron simply sighed and clapped his hand over his friend’s shoulder. The sun splintered in shards of light across the foggy sky, warm blues and yellows lightening the world even though it felt like it was just another summer anomaly. Why couldn’t it snow again?

“Let her choose… don’t make her live with your selfishness… trust me… you’ll never forgive yourself for how it feels,” Galvatron whispered, turning and shuffling through the crowd that had gathered by the dock and disappeared.

Cyclonus began clenching his fists again but only hissed a meditative breath, resisting the urge to cut himself open in grief. He stared at the sun for a long time until dizzying sun spots flickered in his vision. He felt the burn of forced tears as he realized what could be done. Temperance could slip into the dark, frightening silence of death while a reaper threateningly clicked its tongue in impatience in the background. Or… there was that spark of eternal life that came with overwhelming coldness and hunger for something sinful. There was death proudly like a human or life selfishly in the shadows. So much weighed on the decision.

 _You’ll never forgive yourself for how it feels…_ Cyclonus let Galvatron’s voice echo in his head as he swallowed a feeling of sadness. So he regretted the mistake when they were both young and daring, too. The bloodshed and battle didn’t make him laugh… it was the incredulity that they’d both actually lived through it.


	9. Chapter 9

Temperance awoke the sound slow, low sound of a deep and sorrowful song. It thrummed deep in her heart as she listened to its melody, not saying anything just to enjoy the sound. The hospital room was white as the fresh-fallen snow, a soft grey light pouring in from the wide windows just as it had when she’d first woken from that dreamy slumber. The sound was something of a melodic grieving, Cyclonus’ head bowed as he held her soft, pale hand. A tear rolled down her cheek as she felt the tremble of sadness deep within the song. It was soothing.

When Temperance finally parted her lips to speak her usually pepped voice came as a low croak, crackly like popping embers in the old woodstove. “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, coughing. Blood spattered against her pale hand as tears bubbled in her eyes. So this was the end.

Cyclonus’ face was somehow softer than before. Less urgency was written into his angular expression, the scowl even more of a neutral expression. It was calming. It made the young woman smile.

“How do you feel?”

“Mm… like I’m dying,” she laughed, earning no return chuckles. “But I guess I lived… through whatever it was that was following me. I don’t see them anymore. Haha… actually, I’m not sure if I can see much now,” she said, lip upturning as she tried to hide her fear with a smile. Her vision was blurring and her legs felt numb. She was shutting down piece by piece.

The girl’s chest hitched in a sob as her free hand came up to hide her eyes in shame. She was angry at herself for being so childishly afraid, but she didn’t want to die. She just woke up and now death was dragging her back into the darkness. She was so scared. Then, something wild and brilliant came into her head. It was stupid and fear-fueled, but she was scratching for another moment at life. She didn’t want to fade away just yet. “Would you… tur--,” she began, the man grabbing her hand tighter.

“No,” he said firmly, head downcast.

“Why not?” She asked, voice in a soft wail.

“You don’t want to know what it feels like to go on forever,” he whispered.

“You don’t know what it feels like to not get the chance to live at all,” she spat back, apologizing the moment the words left her lips. “I’m sorry… I’m… I just don’t want to die. I still hope that it’s a misdiagnosis and they’ll come in and give me a miracle pill or…”

“Temperance,” Cyclonus said firmly, hands on the young woman’s shoulders. “Never hope.”

“Why not?” She whimpered, eyes overflowing as her eyes struggled to focus the face above her.

“Because hope is a lie,” he said solemnly, standing to his full height and moving toward the door.

“You’ll end it for me, won’t you? When it gets to the end?” She smiled weakly, trying to channel that painful optimism back into her voice. “You’ll protect me from the dark… won’t you?”

“I will do what is necessary,” he said, leaving the room with a sigh.

 

Ratchet explained to Cyclonus that there really wasn’t much else they could do for her but keep her medicated to avoid the pain. She was actually better off just taking a high dosage and going home to be alone and not cooped up in some medical facility in her final hours.

“Sign her papers and you can take her home,” Ratchet handed him the clipboard with words so tightly packed together that they looked like dotted blocks.

“It’s not her home,” he said mindlessly.

“No? Well try telling her that when she kept saying that she wanted to see you and go home in her sleep before you came around to your humanity,” Ratchet scowled, walking away in disgust.

The nurse’s island in the middle of the ward was still as the man signed his name as best as he could, faking a last name. He hadn’t even used it since he’d signed up for the first world war, but it would still work. He handed the papers back to the woman behind the counter quietly as he gave her a small vial of pills and nodded solemnly to him, wishing him a good day. But what good could come from that day?

Back in her room Temperance was now unhooked to three IV drips and a monitor, legs thin and frail in the black sundress Cyclonus had brought from their home. Their home? Right… the living space they shared together even if ever so briefly. It felt warmer even when Cyclonus was sleeping on the floor next to the woodstove, brighter even if the window blinds were never raised. It felt like a home.

The girl tested her feet and winced, looking up at him weakly. “I don’t want the wheelchair,” she muttered, looking at it as the nurse held it in place.

“I’m sorry, it’s just a rule.” She tried explaining.

“I think you can make this one exception,” Cyclonus said, gaze and voice keeping the woman from arguing. She nodded agreeably and left. The man got on his knee and offered his arms. And just like in the snowy garden underneath the knowing eyes of the holy mother the ghostly girl fell into his arms once again.

 

The entire walk home Temperance held onto Cyclonus tightly, tears brimming in her eyes as she listened to that song that he hummed constantly. She savored the tight grip on her and the feeling of her own clammy skin against the pilot’s. It was a kind of intimacy that she’d craved for so long. Her eyelids heavy she smiled as she felt him turn corner after corner and finally a rush of cool air.

For the first time ever they had gone through the lobby of the apartment building. No one stopped Cyclonus as he opened the service elevator door and pressed the C for ceiling. The ride up was rickety and loud as the gears pulled them up to the ceiling where the skies were overcast grey and winds icily swept over the tarred roof.

Inside the apartment it was warm with a well-lit fire going for some time. The altar had been lit once more with candles and offerings with something new lying on top. A picture that Temperance had stolen with Rewonda at the movie night, her bright, smiling face beaming and full of life, leaned against the statuette of the holy mother. It was there to bless the young woman and all Cyclonus could do was pray it worked.

Gently he rested the girl on top of the furs and quilts, tucking her in as he knelt by her side. She turned her head to the side and smile with dark shadows under her brilliantly bright eyes. More tears ran down her cheeks as she reached for Cyclonus’ hand.

“You stopped singing,” she croaked, smiling wide.

Taking the order the man opened his mouth once more in a deeply sorrowful song. He sang it softly, lightly to urge recovery and painlessness if possible at all. Just one more miracle… just one more.

Outside the sky, grey and dimming with heavy cloud cover, let a dust of snow sprinkle over the city. People stared up, some cursing the odd weather and some even smiling with a wonder as to what it signified. Nevertheless, soon the world was blanketed in a sharp cold and an atmosphere of togetherness, people rushing into coffee and bookshops to hide from the cold. Some were even talking of miracles, snowing twice in the summer. How odd.

Back up on the roof of the ornate, antiquated but restored to vintage charm apartment building, its face watching over a busy downtown filled with unique life and quaint nooks, it was more than still. The snow thickened against the roof and the room grew colder, but it had nothing to do with the weather. Temperance’s face was dulling by the hour, smile nearly begging for some relief.

Finally, daringly, the woman asked again.

“If you won’t… turn me, convert me, whatever it’s called… will you kill me?” She asked, feeling the scratch of the void at the back of her mind.

“And what makes you think you want to live forever?” Cyclonus asked, hand still holding hers.

She rolled her head back to face the ceiling and thought briefly on the subject of eternal life. Sure, it was glamorized in the media and it seems like a good idea in the beginning until that inevitability of everyone else dying around you kicks in, but the only people around the young woman were vampires, banshees, harpies, doctors, and mysterious therapists that could or could not be magical. Most the people she knew and loved were already going to live forever.

“Because I don’t want to die for nothing,” she finally smiled. “I mean… sure… I stalled Tyrest and may have had a hand in saving the day, but… being the hero is overrated. I want to spend another night at the book shop with you or just lying on the roof and singing, even if I’m no good at it. I want to live for something, even if it seems small to you. I don’t want you to be alone,” she smiled, a hiccup and laughing sob escaping her softly. “I love you.”

Cyclonus lowered his head and kissed the top of her hand for a long time. Another hiccupping sob escaped her as she felt the love radiate through her body. She that’s what it was. Nothing else like it had filled her before. It was just perfect. The pilot held her hand tightly and sighed.

“You can’t change your mind,” he whispered. “It hurts like nothing else. It feels worse than dying,” he explained, the young woman steeling herself.

“Being at death’s door, I can almost promise you that it won’t be worse than what I’m feeling,” Temperance smiled, hugging the pilot’s head to her chest. “I won’t change my mind.

It was then that Cyclonus finally shoved Galvatron’s words from his mind. He took a short dagger from his altar and held it in his free hand. He sucked in a long breath, grabbing onto the young woman’s shoulder with the dagger-wielding hand once more. “Are you sure?” He asked, eyes sharp. She nodded slowly, biting back a cough.

When it happened it was like a blink. Cyclonus took the knife and shoved it between their wrists as they held hands, whisking it away and squeezing the wounds together. At first there was no pain, blood, or reaction, just a cold numbness. But almost as instantly as Temperance had adjusted to the feeling a sharp, needling pain began running through her arm. The girl’s body went rigid as she ground her teeth, tears running from her eyes. She looked over to the pilot who was holding their hands together.

Cyclonus was bent at the knee as he held their wrists together, almost praying as he pressed his forehead to her hand. Tears rolled down her ghostly cheeks as the man tried to hold her still. She knew that she wanted this but she’d never imagine that it really was worse than the pain of slowly dying. Even more a fearful thought was that maybe this was the pain with her pain medication, too.

There was never anything romantic about being changed. It hurt worse than detoxing from the most potent drug and felt like the hardest high ever at the same time, all coupled with searing agony and fear. Movies and books always made it seem so simple and passionate, but it was nothing even close. No one ever turns someone for fun. Not just because it’s in involved process, but because you have to be right next to the person and listen to them scream in pure, blood-curdling pain. Even now the screams in Cyclonus’ ears burned, Temperance’s own nails digging deep into his palm as she grabbed for some kind of relief.

Limbs shaking and mind screaming white, Temperance threw back her head and let out a scream that shook the apartment. Her throat burned when she stopped, but that pain felt barely like a pinch compared to everything else. Her teeth gritted as they throbbed, her eyes burning like she’d left them open too long. The thought she was going to die.

Like razor blades sluggishly running down her arm, the vampire’s blood mixed with her own. She shook in agony, scream erupting from her ground teeth once more. She grabbed at the furs fitfully, legs shaking and heart pounding in her ears. The man at the source of the pain only fought back his own regrets. He felt her blood darken as his own was transfused into her veins. He could feel the light in her die.

The girl was kicking at the bed and leaning up, digging sharpened nails into Cyclonus’ shoulder. Tears ran freely as blood pooled beneath her nails. She panted in exhaustion as it reached her heart, every vessel and vein filled with the new darkness. It burned in her skin like a sunburn from the inside out, her entire being a frayed nerve ending. Finally, the feeling slowly, faintly dimming, a wave of starvation filled the girl. Her eyes were sharp and clear as she pulled back, suddenly afraid of the hunger that filled her. It didn’t come from her stomach but deep in her bones as if she was hollow inside. Even so, her hand never left Cyclonus’ grip.

“Wh-what is this?” She asked, looking around and noticing just how alive everything was. She could hear the sizzle and pops of the wood stove like nothing she’d ever heard and the throb in the pilot’s neck was like a buzzing beacon against his skin.

“It’s your first hunger. And whatever you do next… it’s okay. You don’t need to ask.”

Temperance, her hand shaking, reached out. She touched Cyclonus’ face with wide eyes, pulling him close. She could see so much more. His eyes were so many brilliant shades of red and the depth n his eyes was no longer fearful, but lively. The pilot was, to the say the least, shocked. He watched as Temperance pulled him close to her just inches apart. She seemed so intrigued by something, her face blank with childish curiosity.

Then, almost daringly testing the waters of experience, the young woman pressed her lips to Cyclonus’. The pilot jolted, but didn’t pull away. He’d already given the girl a full pass to do whatever felt right. He felt her warm, soft lips against his own and closed his eyes. For a brief moment it was an awkward tangle of sensations for Temperance as Cyclonus led her through. She felt their lips part briefly only connecting again, her skin buzzing. But then another part was going to get the best of her. She slid from the kiss and pressed her face against his neck.

Cyclonus simply held the young woman as she did was she knew need to be done: everything in necessity. Temperance’s heart throbbed as she stared deeper and more intently at someone’s neck than she had ever done before. She breathed against the skin and the vein rose to the surface. Not waiting for explanation her teeth sunk into the skin. She was shocked just how sharp they’d become, but the other part of her only wanted more.

The blood that filled her mouth was thick and complex, not just bitter and iron-tasting like licking a wound when she was a kid. It was smoky and dark, rich and savory, even sweet some tastes. It was better than anything she’d ever tasted, her mouth filled with the indulgent liquid. She gulped it eagerly, the hunger subsiding slowly as she pulled Cyclonus tighter against her teeth. The pilot gave a hiss of pleasure as the girl licked her lips clean, resting her head against his shoulder. It had been a very long time since someone had sank their teeth into his skin and he’d forgotten the sensation. He dug scratch marks into the wood of the bed frame, biting back the urge to throw the young woman off.

“I’m sorry,” Temperance whispered as she pulled away, teeth still sharp in her mouth. She’d never had so little self-control in her life.

“I told you not to apologize. I nearly emptied Galvatron my first bite,” he explained, sighing in relief that the blood had taken.

Then, the flurry of everything coming to her, Temperance realized what she had done. She sat back on her haunches, blinking and taking it all in. Everything was crystal clear and even her hearing was sharper than ever. It was almost sensory overload without a focus. Cyclonus however, was lifting her lips to check her teeth, giving her a focal point. “Your teeth…”

“What… what, don’t tell me…” She asked, searching the man’s face for an answer.

“No… they’re just double-pointed. Your canines and your lateral incisors are sharp too,” he stared, wondering.

“What does that mean?” She asked, licking over the teeth.

“We’d have to talk to Galvatron. He knows more,” the pilot nodded, standing until the young woman’s hand reached out and pulled him back down. “What?”

“D-do… do we have to go?”

“As opposed to what?”

“Just… staying here… together,” she said, shrugging as if it didn’t really matter even though she wanted it.

A moment of awkward silence bounced in the air as Cyclonus gave a defeated sigh. He finally took that heavy black coat off and showed his full frame. He was tall, but he was well built. Temperance’s gaze lingered as he kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed. He reached out and rubbed a finger over her soft cheek. He was so glad that her brilliant optimism and those gleaming blue eyes didn’t fade. So many lost individuality to the dominance of the red of the blood; it was a nice surprise to see that something had worked out in the end.

Temperance, a newfound sense of confidence in her since she’d successfully distracted a blood-thirsty lunatic, survived terminal cancer, and had become something entirely non-human, pulled Cyclonus close. Not in a sexual way, but just in a craving for physical closeness. The pilot met her halfway, lying down with her on the bed. The girl pulled him close in a hug, just breathing in all the new scents she could smell. But most of all just in peace. She’d wanted to be close to him for so long and now there was no excuse for her not to be.

“I love you,” she whispered, curling her body into the curve of Cyclonus’.

The man pondered the phrase for a long time, feeling its depth and resonance. It was like a warm throb of peace in him, his arms wrapping around the seemingly small young woman. He closed his eyes and smiled just out of her range of sight. He sighed, pulling her close and murmuring that song. Temperance’s smile was nearly uncontainable.  

“Louder…” She chuckled, nestling close to his chest. “I love your voice.”

And so, as the snow blanketed the world outside in a peaceful, silent miracle, Temperance drifted into the deepest, most peaceful sleep in her life in Cyclonus’ arms. She didn’t fear the darkness of her closed eyes anymore, but relished in the sweet melodies, no longer dark and heavy. It felt like finally she’d let go of a great weight. Wrapped in the furs and quilts stitched with patience and history Temperance breathed out the pain and felt her life bloom anew, even in the peaceful grey light of another miracle snow.

 

That night against the horizon and behind the thick cloud cover a beautiful, massive, golden moon would rise over the city. Its light soaked any object it could reach as Temperance, dressed in the simple black sun dress and a long blue peacoat, strode beside her companion Cyclonus. She walked with confidence and Cyclonus’ directions to the dark alley. It was long and narrow, but at the end was that distinct crimson door with the eye slot. She stood back and let the taller man ahead. He knocked twice on the door and waited, looking back at the young woman who was smiling brightly. She nodded.

The slot slid open with a loud metal clang. The eyes, rich greens, stared at the man for a long time before asking something in Russian. Cyclonus replied, not missing a beat, the man behind the door nodding.

Inside the room was dark and the path was lit only by theater style floor lights and overhead can lights that cast a dim, seductive glow over the red path. Music throbbed from below, the night club beneath the earth but the melodies defiantly reaching upward. Temperance walked with her head dipped ever so slightly behind Cyclonus who held her hand from the front. He seemed to know where they were going and what to do, even though she’d been told twice why they were at the very strange place that smelled like smoke and sweetness.

Finally, coming to a wide metal door, they stopped, Cyclonus rolled his ruby red eyes and spun the massive lock dial on the side and scanned his hand on a digital pad. This seemed all very complicated for meeting someone, but Temperance never voiced that opinion. She only watched as the door slid back and a massive, ornate room was revealed.

Still holding Cyclonus’ hand she took a step inside and stared all around the room. The bookshelves that were set in the wall were a dark wood with carved vines along their ends, the floor covered in a beautiful antique rug. The desk was just as impressive as well, the man sitting behind it beaming like a proud uncle. He stood, his height having Temperance craning her neck. Was she just the shortest person in the world was everyone around her just freakishly tall?

“So this is the empath I never hear the end of,” Galvatron beamed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I still don’t know what that means. Everyone keeps calling me that and I still don’t know what that is,” Temperance sighed, slightly behind Cyclonus as she spoke. When her lips parted, however, Galvatron’s eyes widened.

“So you decided,” the war lord nodded.

“No, she did,” Cyclonus corrected him.

Both of the older men idling there for a second, looking at Temperance, they decided to broach the subject with bluntness. Galvatron leaned back against his desk, looking down at the girl.

“So tell me… how does it feel?” He asked, Cyclonus taking his own steps back with folded arms.

“Not dead.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the support and those who have stuck with me through this crazy thing from start to finish. I really appreciate it. I'd never finished this mess without the constant, loving-pestering of DemonsDaughter. She's an amazing writer and an even greater motivator. Thanks again. 
> 
> There will be two side fics linked to this universe that I will post later on. They're fluff/smut based for those needing a shock blanket of domestic cuteness to get over this wild ride. 
> 
> Thanks again. I owe you all so much.

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope this fic is worth reading past the first chapter. Thank you for any and all who read or consider reading this. Thank you to my amazing roommate and brilliant writer Bonebo who, without her, this spin off universe would not be possible. And also, thanks to the intriguing Silverdart's fic Fall Out for the sparked idea, pun intended.


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